Insomnia Redux

Here I am, unable to sleep again. However, this time I chalk it up to jet lag. I'm not as frustrated as I might normally be, because I figure that getting up at 5:00 tomorrow morning ought to fix everything by tomorrow evening. Until I'm ready for bed, however, I think I need to write.

I'm frustrated that I can never seem to get as much done as I'd like. It's like I can't quite get my act together enough to decide what changes I need to make in my life. But that's not exactly true. I mean, my act is more together than most, I'd say. Honestly, I tend toward over-organization; I have this overly developed sense of responsibility. I'm not a procrastinator. I never have been. The real problem and the real source of my frustration is that I have unrealistic expectations. It sounds so neurotic when I admit it, but I expect more from myself than I would from other people. I'm not sure why I'm this way, although I could offer a few fairly convincing specualtions. I don't know that it really matters why I'm this way. But the reality that I live with is that I expect more of myself than any one person can reasonably accomplish. But it's frustrating. I don't have a spouse or children; I don't have the obligations that many of my friends have. It seems as though I should be able to do whatever I want with myself and my time, yet so much of it is wasted. Here it is, Sunday night, and I'm frustrated that I somehow didn't do more with my day. I know, I know: I should focus on what I have accomplished today, this week, this month, this lifetime. And yet, there's always the sneaking feeling, just at the edge of my consciousness, that my life somehow should amount to more. I'll be 31 in just a few weeks, and it seems as though I should have more to show for 31 years.

I've been told that my problem is with contentment. I don't think that's necessarily the case. I think that the "problem" I have is that I'm not realistic about my physical and emotional capabilities. I think I'm realistic about the capabilities of others. I would never, never berate my dear friend C., for example, if she were in my position. I'd encourage her; I'd point out all her accomplishments; I'd tell her it was OK not to be perfect and productive and happy all the time. I'd tell her it was normal; in fact, I did tell her it was normaly earlier this evening. So why can't I say and believe those things about myself? It's OK and it's entirely normal to do nothing some days. It's OK to work only 8 or 10 hours a day. It's OK to feel disappointed when disappointing things happen. And it's OK to miss a day of exercise. I'm going to work at telling myself that all these things are OK. I'm going to work at talking to myself the way that I would talk to anyone that I respect and care about.