The other day I had an ebinphany. Like an epiphany but triggered by a bin.
I forgot to put the bin out. The burgeoning general waste bin that is only collected once every fortnight. Annoying right?
The most annoying part is, that I then spent hours and hours being angry at myself and lamenting how rubbish I am and wishing I could turn back the clock and just put the bloody bin out where it was supposed to be, when it was supposed to be, and move on with my life.
What happens next? Well, I have to take the rubbish a mile around the corner to the tip. Or, if I’m lucky, my husband will. It will take maybe 20 minutes of my time, and then I actually *will* be able to move on with my life.
Where’s the ebinphany there I hear you ask? It’s not there, it’s here:
I spend so much more time beating myself up over innocent mistakes, than I do actually fixing them.
And the result is, I still have to fix them, but I’ve wasted a lot of time being a silly sausage that has achieved absolutely nothing whatsoever.
And that’s rubbish.