27 February 2009

I had a epiphany. (I apparently can't spell it, but I had one).

Okay. So I'm miserable and depressed and really don't have any good reason to be. And really don't want to dwell on the misery and depression, have resolutely decided it doesn't need to define who I am no matter how pervasive it can be. I follow the school of thought that one can 'behave their way to happiness'. In my case, that behaviour might occasionally take the role of too many martinis and drooling over boys that are embarrassingly too young for me, but whatever. It felt good. Mostly.

The problem was waking up in the morning and seeing any point to the day. Same old same old. Get up. Drink coffee in attempt to de-cobweb the noggin, feed the girl, take the girl to school, read blogs that make me laugh, rack brain to come up with appropriately snarky and clever comments on said blogs, maybe do something relating to the cleanliness of my house. Maybe not. Maybe write something. Maybe not. Maybe go to the gym. Maybe not. Etc. Etc.

Not much point to my existence.


I need a point. Yeah, yeah; I'm a stay-ath-home mom, my point of existence is to make sure my daughter's existence is pleasant and loving. Okay, fine. That I can do, but it's an amorphous task. I need a point.

I need a purpose. Every day, I need to know my purpose for that day.


Not being one who is usually comfortable with making cheesy sweeping positive statements, this is going to be out of character. But, maybe it'll work. Maybe not.

Call them goals, daily affirmations, whatever New-Age Feel-good label you want.

Today my purpose is to three hole punch a 230-page manuscript.
And brush my teeth.

Good, then. Done.

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