I’m a self-made tattletale

I really love coming here with a new posting, but for some reason I don’t do it as often as I should. I guess I’m a procrastinator. (Confession no. 1). Another reason might be that I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and am too honest. (Confession no. 2)

After I post something and I go back and read it, I realize that I told on myself. (Confession no. 3)

Yes, I am my own tattletale. But why wouldn’t that be true? I know me better than anyone else. And a lot of what I openly share is usually things only God and I see me doing. BTW, He knows me better than I know me.

What I’m about to share might be common to someone reading my blog. Here goes.

I’ll be sitting in my chair and think of something I need to get up and do, and that’s pretty much how far I get most of the time. I start having this conversation with myself.

“Sue, you know that thing isn’t going to get done by itself.”

“Sue, it’s not going to grow hands and feet and do what it needs by itself.”

“SUE !! Get up now!!”

Maybe somewhere in me is a secret desire to actually see that “thing” grow legs and walk off. My dear Mama used to say this to me when she had let something go that needed doing. “Honey, it will be right there tomorrow.” And she was so right. I never have gotten up the next day to find that some laundry or dishes had put themselves away. Sure enough, they were still sitting in the same spot.

Another of my well-used pieces of advice comes when I finally get up and do that so-called dreaded job: “See Sue, that wasn’t as hard as you thought.”

It's not like I have to walk ten miles in the snow to take my trash to the trash room, or juggle a dozen dishes at once while standing on one foot blindfolded to put them away.

Yes, I admit I make too much of simple everyday things. I’m a (put-offer). There I said it. I tend to put off some of the simplest easiest things. Why? Do I need to have some deep mental psychological conversation with a professional?

Oh, I do have those conversations, but usually only with—myself. I’m good at playing both roles in my scoldings. I can accuse myself of these poor habits and then defend myself. (Confession no. 1000).

The list could go on and on. But I can admit that I have learned something over my 77 years of life. Sooner or later, I have to get up and get things done.

You’d think that I lived in a pile of “stuff,” but I don’t. Thank God for that! Maybe the thought of one day being found buried under a pile of old papers, bottles, and smelly trash is what motivates me to act.

I’m not a clean freak—obviously—but I don't live in a nasty house either. My life and surroundings are what I call “Lived-in.” My desk sits in front of my chair, holding my laptop and a few necessary items. Beside my chair, a table holds my printer, a rolling frame with scrolling pictures, and, of course, my beloved teapot. By the way, she has grown legs and wears her Mary Janes and polka-dotted socks with pride. But she’s never offered to run away.

I’ve decided that I have two options. As I grow older, these necessary daily activities will still be part of my life. As I said, the trash bag has never grown legs and walked itself down to the trash room. Nor have I watched dishes clamoring about helping each other put themselves away in the cabinet.

The other option is to see every day as an opportunity to stay physically active and be SO thankful for the life I have today! I live in a community where there are a lot of people who are so much worse off than I am. I can still live in my apartment, cook for myself, and take full care of my daily needs.

So, I guess this has been more of a confession than being my own tattletale. I’ll end this with another of my thoughts about this. I tell myself that I can’t be the only one. Sure enough, when I talk to people, they tell me they do have some of the same problems.

So, there you have it. I bless you.