Expecting perfection in oneself is a recipe for disappointment. Even striving for perfection leads to dissatisfaction with one’s failures. Yet using perfection as an ever-illusive yardstick against which one measures not attainment, but merely progress, is wise application of experience. There’s danger in measuring progress, though, in that the measure itself can become a target, leading to failures in one’s wake. I am too familiar with the dangers of perfection and the allures it leaves in its path.
Perfection does not exist. It is a myth. And, like all myths, perfection is rooted in the soil of reality, but its nutrients live in the pristine air of cages built from artificial ideas.
+++
The headache that woke me just after 4 this morning has not disappeared, but it is no longer the ferocious beast it was when I got out of bed. Oh, how I loathe throbbing headaches! I have no idea what causes them. That’s good, though, because if I knew, I might withdraw from the world.
+++
It’s now almost 6:40, leaving just enough time before my IC wakes to get a little more sleep…maybe. I am not sleeping enough lately. Even I, who needs rather little sleep, needs some more. I feel it. I might sleep in today. Or I might not.
