I overextend myself. There's some virtue in this but not really. zB: MLI is the tenth blog I've signed on for, despite the graveyard of others behind me: a mixtape blog, a blog that's basically a meta-Gawker, a blog about East Village bodegas, a blog that was being written in the voice of mashup king N*ck C*tchdubs at the age of 75 (that is here), a comedy photo blog called, brilliantly, Rifftreous Humor. (The vitreous humor is the clear gel that fills the space between the lens and the retina of the eyeball of humans and other vertebrates. It is often referred to as the vitreous body or simply "the vitreous." Waste of a great pun.)
The irony of this post is painfully noted.
In less insignificant ways, this problem has affected relationships too. I end up flaking on a lot of engagements, simply because I can't say no. A lot of these engagements I don't even want to make either, so I'm doubly upset at myself. It'd be a lot easier if I just said, "No, I can't make it." To an extent it's an urge to please, to do everything or at least try to do it all. But I've decided it's probably better to be stand-up about fewer plans than to be impossibly precarious w/r/t more of them.
Right now I'm strapped $$$-style and see I've made plans to meet someone for drinks Tuesday night. I'm going to cancel that now, not tomorrow, when I was planning to send an email about being too busy at work and not being able to get out. I also told a girl at work I could magically pull W*lf P*r*de tickets out my subpop for next week. I am going to let her know that's not going to happen. I'm going to tell her I'm done spinning plates.
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