No More Excuses

I am the queen of excuses when I want to be. I always have a reason, a why, an explanation for whatever I need. In grad school it was a source of amusement for myself and friends, because I could always explain away (to anyone) why we were doing what we were and why we should be allowed to continue doing so. I was good at it.

I don’t sleep well at night, it seems most people have this affliction and while it isn’t always fun it is easily survivable. But it makes the perfect excuse to not get out of bed in the morning. I’m too tired, I didn’t sleep well, I’ll go for my run later. All of those thoughts, and more, flash through my head when my husband gets up in the morning. I don’t work until 1300, I have plenty of time this morning, I’ll do it after my walk. Justification after excuse after reason fly by and while I never really fall back asleep, I stay in bed.

This morning was no different. Except that the friend that I walk with called an hour earlier than she had all of last week. And I came home and now my excuses were that it was too warm out, I was too hungry, I had things to do. Until I didn’t. I didn’t make the excuse. I shut my computer, got up and went for a ten minute run. Nothing long, nothing fancy, just a quick I will do this kind of run. And it felt good. Only now, I need to keep that going.

I have a bad tendency to flake out on myself. To say that I will sweep in a little bit, put those clothes away later, go make lunch soon. And then I never do. I sit on my computer and come up with excuses, with reasons, with justifications. I know I can’t fix it all at once, but after I hit publish I’m going to close my computer and go take care of my morning chores.

I owe it to myself to stop with the reasons and just do the best I can, even if that isn’t always all that good. I owe it to myself to keep my promises to me. I owe it to myself to do what I say that I will.

No more excuses.

~The Countess~

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About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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