I got up this morning and looked around my house. I walked from room to room, as I often do, taking stock of all of the tasks I should focus on completing that day. It is not often that I get through that survey without feeling helpless, like I've been given a job, a large job, that I am unqualified to do. I'm falling short. Here in the middle of things, it feels as though I always fall so short.
And I do.
My house is usually in some state of mess. Even on days like today when all of my dishes are clean and my sink shines, there are plenty of other tasks that remind me I am by no means on top of things. I never am.
I expect this won't always be the case. At some point I won't be suffocating. It's been over thirty years, but I still expect the feeling of being ill-equipped to subside.
For now, I do the dishes and closely monitor my sense of desperation. No matter what is or isn't done, once the set threshold is crossed, I take out my Sharpies, and I rest.