I forgot to tweet that I had a new blog post up yesterday. Did it matter? What would be the point? Is anyone counting? Anyone waiting?

I’m not posting a picture in this post. Does it matter? Does anyone notice? And I have a headache anyway – I woke up like this (not that I slept) – and I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon. And posting pictures can be a headache.

Thirty years from now will any of this matter?

Still, I backed up my blog yesterday. Not really sure if it worked – you never know ’til you try.

And I went to bed, and I woke up this morning (not that I slept), thinking the pressure I live with every day is just too damn much.

I’m supposed to be a perfect mother. Or at least a mediocre mother. My mediocre one day is someone else’s best. And my best another day is someone else’s mediocre. But, who’s comparing? Why?

I work like a dog. Not like my parents’ dogs. Like one of those wild dogs in the woods somewhere ferociously foraging for food for itself and its pups – in the woods, not with a canvas Paul Frank wallet under the armpit and overused credit card at the freaking expensive local grocery store.

I have to please everyone who crosses my path. It’s in my blood. And it wears me the hell down.

And eating well, and OMG exercising, and OMG quitting anything that MAY give you cancer. F*CK. This society of ours is so damn annoying sometimes.

I finished a book. It was stressful to read it because I didn’t have the time. And I didn’t have the time for my free facial last month.

And I should probably stop writing this blog post – even though it’s making me feel better – and run upstairs and tend to the kids. Their dad, sensitively knowing well that I need a break from the world, is playing with them. I love the sounds.

Now, don’t laugh. I have to fix things. I’m now reading this book: The Art of Extreme Self-Care, by Oprah’s favourite life coach Cheryl Richardson. Again, I’m not posting a picture.  I may get to it later if I feel (or nag myself that) a simple text link for the book isn’t enough. I love giving books I read the credit they deserve – because I have to please everyone who crosses my path, even if not physically, and to please my own self and its damn high standards. Why?

There’s no way I can do everything advised in the book. But even if I implement 1/3 of it – like learning to say “no,” like loving myself (as hokey as that sounds), like standing up for myself, like not answering every single email the second I get it – I’d be better off than I am at this moment.

I’ve already put the blackberry charger downstairs so it’s no longer charging, blinking with new mail, by my bedside.

Maybe it’s because of the book that I’m noticing how constantly I feel pressured. The kids, the house, the health of everyone, the jobs, the email, the friends, the internet social life, world peace, ending suffering, saving the environment. Constant pressure. Constant stress to do do do, and to be someone I might just not be.

I’m going to go to my daughter’s party now. In her room. Apparently she needs music and some kind of costume. She’s convinced herself she needs a Halloween bucket, too.

And then I’m going to go out and grab a Chai Latte. I may or may not do anything organized with the kids today. We’ll see.

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