There are a few little quirks about me. I’m not a great sleeper to begin with. I’m a bit of an owl, and have a hard time going to bed at a decent hour, and an even harder time waking up in the morning. If it’s hot, I struggle to sleep even more. And if I’m stressed out with a bunch to do? The world is just going to need to up its production of Coke Zero.
So buying the house and selling the house while I work on a project at work that is overdue and address a content shortfall and start pulling together numbers for budgeting during a week of 90 degree days, and oh by the way sick animals? Let’s just say the zombie thing is totally real.
Yesterday, after about the 10th straight day of less than 6 hours of sleep (6 hours is a magic number for me, under which I seriously feel the effects of sleep deprivation), I was talking to my insurance agent about a policy on the new place. And about why my policy has gone up ridiculously over the last several years, despite my voluntarily reducing coverage. She mentioned that on my next renewal, provided no accidents in the next six months, I’ll see a return of a safe driver discount that disappeared after a minor fender bender more than three years ago. I left the conversation momentarily satisfied… but that night, as I drove home, I nearly burst into tears. I found myself thinking “there’s no way I’m not going to have an accident in the next six months!” I was physically and mentally exhausted, shaking with exhaustion, and needed to do about six hours of work on my place (and cook dinner for mom and I), and then go to bed for less than six hours, work another day, and do six more hours on the house that I’m selling, then get up and do it again. I was planning to work from home tomorrow (so I don’t lose any more momentum on the projects than I have to,) while a handyman and a cleaning service ready the house for pictures and to be put on the market. And the dog needs to be walked and the cats need to be fed and the plants need watering…
And I finally realized what I’m doing to myself. I did not follow my instinct and drink way more Coke Zero to get me through the night. I did what I could (more than I thought I could, once I ate some protein) and called it my best. I still got less than six hours of sleep, but feel better rested. I’m taking tomorrow off (my boss seemed dubious about my working from home, anyway, so I might as well focus on getting the house ready, if she doesn’t trust that I’ll work, the way I said I would and planned to.) The house may not be perfect, for the pictures, but I’ll give it all I’ve got.
My best is just going to have to do. And I know myself well enough to know that my best? Probably enough. Probably better than enough.