A glutton for punishment

Self-imposed deadlines. I love them. I also apparently love stress, drama, and masochism. I am crazy about setting a goal or a task, and arbitrarily setting a deadline to accomplish said goal or task. If I meet my deadline, I'm happy as a clam. Not meeting the deadlines, however, severely stress me out because I convince myself that failing to meet the deadline with cause nothing short of the End. Of. The. World. And. All. Humanity.

It's good to have a deadline, but I also have to work really hard to remind myself that the world will keep turning and no one's going to die if I take more time than I thought I needed. Especially if the barriers to my timely success are out of my control. (Home Depot, I'm looking at you.)

I know that there is a plan for my life. Since I'm not in any hurry to meet the final deadline (If you know what I mean. And I think you do.) I need to allow the plan to unfurl. Even when it's not to my immediate satisfaction, everything will always happen for a reason, and it will all work out in the end.

Blah blah blah. Shut up, and show some pictures of Kate, or maybe a video of her singing an inappropriate song. Well, the joke's on you--I can't find my camera. I think the plan has hidden it from me.