Was it me? It was wasn't it? Surely it must be...

This happens to me a lot and I know I'm not alone in this ridiculous belief.

Imagine the scene, you're reading a friend's social media post (because frankly that's how most of us communicate with friends these days), or you're actually talking in person. They talk about how they had been let down by someone and, like a flick of the switch in the self-deprecating part of our psyche, your immediate reaction is "Was it me? Oh, no... it was me wasn't it... I've forgotten to do something... It must be me".

And, even after a swift sift through your recent interactions you cannot for the life of you remember committing to anything, it remains like a solid heffalump of woozelness squashing your sense of self-worth and convincing of the shocking nature of your interpersonal skills.

You leave the post convinced you are a terrible person. After all, not only have you omitted from helping a friend in need but you've completely emptied your memory of offering to do so in the first place. Seriously what kind of friend are you?

You pen a quick note in panic, begging for forgiveness and offering to make up all ills whilst your subconscious bangs her head against the desk and calls you a total idiot and tries to suggest that the only person you've let down is actually yourself!

A break in ordinary service

In certain sections of society it's just fine and dandy to drop your 'aitches. If my keyboard had a broken H then my writing might stand up to scrutiny and I might never have gone down a thought process so packed with depth and meaning. However, since it's missing another key then I am forced to exist without 'ove and 'aughter. I can't even write my own name. I have become isa. This author isa what? Now there hangs the question.

I jotted down a substantive set of descriptives in my notebook focusing on my very existence. What am I?

It wasn't the type of reading that at first packed a punch of joy. I appeared doused with doubt, but I guess that's to be expected as I anticipate the next steps in my career. I must never forget though that I am an Artist, a Writer and a Creative. These aspects of me exist deep within my psyche. Yet, I know that I am too a prize procrastinator. I absorb distraction as I miss the meaty tasks of the average workday. I require a new job, a set of instructions but with the chance to be proactive, to expand and venture into the new, to experiment and push, to grab at opportunity and stretch my wings once again.

I have much to offer. Come take it!

With the few exceptions that I used to bring attention to the missing key, I have forced my brain to write without using the missing 'thing', digging into my thesaurus memory banks. It's been instructive and a somewhat fun exercise. I suggest you give it a try sometime! It's quite the task.