Why?

Today was a productive day:

-I got out of bed. (Trust me, this is a mighty achievement sometimes)

-I went to work.

-I was extremely productive once I got home:

-I remembered to feed myself.

-I washed dishes.

-I cleared out 5 trash bags worth of things I no longer want/need/are relevant to me (mainly old documents, some fabric samples from god-knows-when [my brief internship in interior design, mayhaps?], notebooks from classes long since over that I'll never need to refer back to, and a bunch of medical-things from my grandmother's illness.)

-I packed up 4 boxes worth of books that are not mine and that I don't want and put them in the attic.

-I began transporting my books from the floor, tables, chairs, bed, and other available surfaces to the living room bookshelf. I think I'm going to put the hardcovers that make me look erudite and eclectic there and find a more hidden away place for paperbacks that make me look normal and boring.

-I dusted and vacuumed, and, oh-mi-fucking-god one should do this on more than a bi-monthly basis.

-I read poetry for an hour and then worked on editing my own.

But, in spite of all of the evidence, I've tossed and turned in bed for hours, feeling like I've accomplished nothing. I haven't done any serious writing all month – I just stare at a blank page, write a sentence, and doodle breasts whenever I try. I haven't even updated this damn thing in more than three weeks. The plants around my house are threatening to consume it, and I can't help but think of Still Life With Woodpecker: “I may be the first monarch in history to be assassinated by blackberries.”

Well, in this case, by ivy, gigantic holly bushes, and one dandelion that is as tall as I am, and I suspect others are on their way.

Why is it that on nights when I've accomplished far more than I normally even begin to surmount, I feel worthless, and on nights that follow a day where I've done nothing, I fall I asleep easily, thinking about all the things I will do one day?

Don't answer that. I know why. Productivity is foreign to me, and I feel the need to build all the momentum I can, as fast I can – thus, I usually burn myself out after about a week of the stuff.

Oh, and the perfectionism doesn't help, either.