Yesterday I was full of new beginnings.
New plans to be better, fitter, healthier, nicer person. Plans to get my house in order, be more organised, take time to smell the roses, reconnect with old friends, write that book, do my tax, stop spending so much time on the bloody laptop.
I was going to get the important things right in life and discard the other stuff.
A new me. A fresh start.
I was full of the post holiday can-do's. I was standing on a mountain top punching the air with 'eye of the tiger' playing in the background.
And then reality pushed me off the cliff.
Now I'm on day two of 'real life' and the last suitcase still hasn't been unpacked, the tenants washing machine needs replacing, I've made my way through 450 unread emails, the house looks like we've been burgled in our absence, and I know for a fact that no tax business will be done until the day after the deadline runs out.
I've come to the realisation that there's a reason that I didn't do any of those things before now.
The reason of course is me.
And I'm still here.
(Albeit a little browner than before so, you know, it's not all bad...)
