my stamina can take it

People, I have problems, because I cannot stop listening to Fleetwood Mac this evening. Wait, wait, do not click away so quickly. You know what is even worse? It is Christine McVie Fleetwood. What? I grew up in the 80s, what did you honestly expect?

Now that we have established just how cool I am not, can I get a reprieve, because when you are having the kind of day where you have a lump in your throat at the end of day from sheer exhaustion, do you not deserve a musical cheesefest? I mean, if I had been listening to The Smiths, you would have had an incredibly maudlin post on your hands. Moreso than usual, even.

Two saving graces yesterday- the sweetest words from Maitri and the return of Lost. I am amused by one cute moment of synchronicity. Yesterday, I was chatting with SP on GoogleTalk, and started the conversation with Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret, because, well, I am a jacka$$. And last night, what should Sawyer be reading but none other than the Judy Blume classic. It should be noted that I do not approve of this Sawyer as comic relief-foolio theme the show seems to be sporting of late.

Anyway, some long overdue sh*t is getting done. Don't get me wrong. I have not accomplished anything significant, and much is left still to be done. But some tasks have been tackled. And though I hold people to high standards, I hold myself to laughably low ones, so I have been a bit elated.

Truth be told, it is amazing how motivating fear of losing a steady paycheck can be. On Tuesday, after one of my many, boring meltdowns, I finally blurted out to RR that I am giving myself three weeks. If, after those three weeks, I feel overwhelmed, behind, disadvantaged, at all incapable insofar as The Goal goes, then, say it with me now, FTLOG, I am quitting my job. I know it is completely, artificially imposed and highly subjective, but something about issuing the challenge out loud, and now on the blogosphere, gives it a real sense of commitment.

A part of me is such an arrogant jerk, though. I issue a proclamation like that, and immediately, almost as soon as the words have left my lips, a surge of adrenaline pulses through me, and in my head, there's this ridiculous machismo, this bravado that quickly takes hold. You are on this b*tch. You can't do this? Bullsh*t. Can't is for pussies. You can beat the odds. You have no time? Oh boo-f*cking hoo. Suck it up. Make it work, candy a$$. Yes, basically, I am the kind of idiot that will trash talk myself.

I allow myself to indulge in this kind of a$$hole-like behavior, because it does serve to force me into being really strict about getting my life together. I have been giving a lot of thought of late as to whether blogging is an indulgence I can afford right now. For now, it is a necessary allowance. Right now, it is a fulcrum that keeps me sane, that, strangely enough, tends to keep me to my word.