When Your Time is No Longer Your Own

How TF am I supposed to get anything done anymore?

I’ve been wanting to write this for weeks now, but haven’t had the time. And that’s exactly what this is about: not having the time.

I’ve always been a highly self-motivated person. Yes, I need friends and family and you all to cheer me on to keep my spirits up and give me literal or virtual pats on the back, but I never need outside motivation to do the thing (hate that phrase, kill me now). I rely on me and me alone to get shit done, and I’m really good at it. The getting done of the shit.

At the same time, though, I’ve always labeled myself as a procrastinator… so that’s confusing. Maybe that’s not the right term, though. I mean, what do you call someone who saves shit until the last minute but still nails it? Some version of a procrastinator, right? It’s not even really that I put things off — it’s more so I know how quickly I will be able to get a certain task done, so I don’t see the point in getting it done now when I have later, if that makes sense.

If you asked my parents, I’m sure they wouldn’t agree with most of this and stand firm in the belief that I am not on top of things, but that’s parents for you. Their POV is much different than mine. For example, do I let my gas tank get to empty before I fill it? Yes. And that, to my parents (and to my husband), is procrastination (and irresponsibility) at its finest. Have I been meaning to change banks for the past two years of marriage and still haven’t? Yes. And that, to my parents, is also procrastination when in reality, it’s just a pain in the ass and I’m busy.

To the outside world, my priorities may seem fucked, but they’re my priorities, and with the arrival of Ziggy Miller and the subsequent journey into motherhood, he has become my #1 priority, which means everything else has fallen to the wayside and I’m not… doing well about it.