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I have spent a large portion of my morning thinking. Thinky, think think think. (There seems to be a lot in my brain and I think my poor mental secretary is waving the white flag.) It is time to do some serious thinky-ing – but, as usual there are always things to DO. Or people talking or something… *sigh*

I hate how I can’t seem to focus on anything but the most immediate of my problems at any one time. Actually I hate having problems and I hate obsessing and yet that’s just what I end up doing.

I suppose part of that comes from being raised in a family where people don’t admit they have problems out loud, even though everyone knows they do. Things float through the grapevine: “cousin so and so has such and such, Auntie so and so is getting a divorce etc” you know. So things show up in your mailbox or on your doorstep that you might need but no one will say to your face “how are you feeling” because then you might cry. I suppose it’s an English thing, you know, ‘stiff upper lip’ type stuff.

So. I shouldn’t have problems because I should be able to handle everything that comes my way, or at least appear to. Talking about them is admitting they’re there. When the boss says ‘do you want help?’ the first thing out of my mouth is what? ‘No thanks, I’ll call if I do.’ /facedesk

Even as I’m writing this I keep looking over at the bookcase for something to read to distract myself.

Bad habits are hard to break? Such a dork.

So the most immediate of these ‘problems’ is finding a new employee. It’s proving to be a pain in the arse and it’s going to be very tight for a few months which means it’s going to be touch and go on whether I can go to this wedding of G and H’s. Obvious solution is to ask for a help even though it galls me to do so. But why should it?

Anyone else in this position and I’d tell them to swallow their pride and look for options elsewhere. So what’s my issue? It’s not like I am any better than anyone else and I am the first to admit that I am not perfect. I’m as flawed and crazy as the next person. Perhaps I feel like I am expected to be strong and capable even when I have no idea what the hell to do next. I have used my mother as a model because she seems strong and capable even when she has admitted she’s been scared witless – but then I am probably still wearing my childhood rose-coloured glasses where she can do no wrong and therefore any failure on my part is… what?

Failure? I’m not allowed to fail.. somewhere along the way I picked up this notion even though it isn’t true. I don’t believe in can’t in the sense that I don’t believe in giving up, but that doesn’t mean (listen self!) that I can win every time. Some things are just not up to me, or in the cards, or however you want to say it. Asking for help is not failing, changing tactics is not failing, letting go is not failing. So shut up, brain.

listening to: Dreamdance – Amethystium
watching – Ike blow himself out
reading: Fifth Business – Robertson Davies
craving: lemonade (correction: passion ice tea lemonade from Starbucks.
feeling: achy
headspace: cluttered