I've disappeared on you once again.
I've officially tiptoed near that line emblazoned with the brightly colored "Burnt Out" signage placed every two feet. Anyone who's been with me for the long, long haul could have predicted this; I'm following nearly the exact timeline I did with my stint as a part-time piano teacher. That gig lasted a little over two years before I cried uncle and regretfully mailed out resignation letters to all the students' parents.
It's my own, perfectionist, over-achieving doing that puts me here. My drive to do things well. Sure, that trait has served me well over the years (hello, piles of college scholarship money and two engineering degrees!), but it's also been a cleverly-disguised enemy that has no qualms about driving me into the ground, all while congratulating me for
nearly earning a Superwoman cape.
I've learned to identify this ne'er do well sitting on my shoulder, whispering tuants into my ear as I pile more items onto my list. I've even named her - Ordelia. She pretends to have my best interest in mind but certainly does not, and she thoroughly enjoys how inadequate I feel when I don't complete my long lists of tasks each day. But although I've identified her and named her, I'm not as diligent about keeping her silent. It's not long before I start assuming that her whisperings are my own thoughts; that I truly do enjoy being in motion from sunup to sundown. That sitting on the couch with my favorite book just isn't important and isn't worth accomodating by removing things from my list.
Damn that Ordelia for twisting my thoughts into a jumbled mess. Damn her.
