So, I've been working on a 90 day plan with a couple of friends. How it works is this: You decide what you want to have achieved in a year's time and then set yourself 90 day path-markers to make sure that you're on track and what not.
I've been doing it for a month and I think I'm making pretty good headway - updating my goals, keeping an eye on what I'm running off-track with....and I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Tartarus was only home for 20 minutes before he was asking all those questions that I only had a 'no' for.
'Have you taxed the cars and the bike?'
'Erm, no. Was I supposed to?'
'Yes, I e-mailed you about it specially.' Tartarus is sounding pained - and for once I don't blame him. I have a vague remembrance of the instruction and wonder why I didn't do anything about it.
He switches to money: 'Did you bank my refund?'
I rack my brain. I remember detaching the cheque from the letter. Surely I banked it? SURELY? I remember INTENDING to bank it.
I open a drawer. There lies the cheque. Along with some other cheques. Decidedly unbanked.
Tartarus is sighing at me now. I feel terrible.
'What's up with the freezer?' he asks.
'What do you mean?'
'The freezer - it's not working.'
I dimly recall seeing the red light on when I was getting the fish fingers out for Sonshine the day before.
'I saw that light yesterday. I think it must have stopped working last night,' I offer lamely.
'Did you not think to do something about it then?' he asks patiently, rubbing his tired eyes.
'No.' I look down at my slippers and can feel myself starting to well up and get weepy with irritation at myself. All this goal-setting and trying to get myself to somewhere where I'm happy to be in my life. It's just so much window-dressing, isn't it? I can sort out websites for people without any trouble. I can write articles and blog posts and facebook until I'm the same colour as Zuckerman's logo.
I am failing to show up in my real life and I don't really know why.
Or maybe I do.