The Subject of My Ire?

Well, today, lo and behold .... that would be moi. Me, myself and I. On the hot seat and in the corner with the dunce cap on. Little old Lise. Why, you ask, am I pissed at myself today? When there are so many worthy subjects to be focusing my disgust on? The people who cut ahead in line, the people who talk on cell phones on the bus and train, that guy last night who really ought to re-consider his steroid use who squeezed into the middle seat and then proceeded to SWELL - I kid you not - until I was squished between him and the winow, my poor aching back in AGONY ... well, hey, with all those folks, why pick on myself? Why take me to task?

Here's why. I'm guilty of felonious procrastination, that's why. It's not REAL procrastination - actually its avoidance in the first degree. I've managed to find a gazillion chores that need doing (and admittedly, yes, they all do need doing - when last I checked the dust bunnies were holding elections for their new democracy formed under my sofa). I find myself weak with exhaustion after draining days at work where bad news abounds - including no raises for the next 12 months, no more overtime, and lots of stress, pressure andfrustration. But that never used to stop me. Instead days like that made me redouble my efforts to produce, to utilize the personal time I did have on a bad day to "fight back", as it were, to show everyone there's no stopping me.

Now I seem to have stopped myself. Full stop, no forward motion, whatever that law of physics that says a motion at rest tends to stay at rest? Well I'm here, Einstein. Motionless.

I haven't given up - but my little half-assed efforts seem to be puny, at best. The "before" picture of the muscle-bound guy on the beach getting sand kicked in his face. I'm down, but I'm not out.

So pardon me while I take myself into the back room and beat some sense into me.