You is your own worst enemy.

Pressure. David Bowie and Freddie Mercury wrote a song about being under it, and a friend of mine made a Facebook page about it being inside his undies (while the play on words was exceptional, I don’t really know if I liked the definition enough to recommend it to my friends). We’ve been taught that pressure plus time can create diamonds in the right circumstances, but in the wrong circumstances, all you get is wet pants (in case you were wondering what “Undie Pressure” was actually referring to).

There are lots of different kinds of pressure, such as water pressure or the force of a house brought in on a wind from Kansas landing on your torso (I went with a fictional case just to make sure I didn’t jinx myself – I don’t want to die alone in my own house crushed under a ten-year-old pile of stacked newspapers). And while both those kinds of pressure I was referring to can have pretty dramatic outcomes, there’s a another pressure that can produce outcomes that are also not agreeable but rarely involve death (let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, death isn’t the greatest outcome). It’s the kind of pressure that is maximised by the fact that it was applied by yourself. The pressure you put on yourself to achieve something; to make something of your pathetic snivelling self.

While a teacher, friend or inspirational fridge magnet may compel you to do something, the who whom hurts the most when that something wasn’t a thing is yourself. You can get a medi for your teacher, apologise to your friend and throw that smug piece of junk Lorna Jane fridge magnet (I don’t know if they do fridge magnets, but it would make sense because the fridge door is the gatekeeper of fattening food items, and a condescending message printed on a magnetic strip would be an excellent way to remind people to “never, ever, ever, ever, ever give up” on your diet.) But you can’t buy Yourself some “soz brah” frozen yoghurt and call it even, because Yourself is a dweller and holds grudges like you wouldn’t believe (except you would, because you know what You is like).

So when you set yourself a goal and fail to meet it, that hurts. You is reeling and you don’t know how to shut You up. You is so loud, You can’t hear yourself think! You doesn’t hear reasoning that the goal was pointless or that bung-knee is something to worry about or that Better Homes and Gardens had a helpful special on. You will keep reminding you that you didn’t do what was promised to You, no matter what reasons you come up with. This cycle gives you the gripes, but still you find yourself pledging things to Yourself. It might be conquering that pile of laundry, contacting your real estate agent, going to that gym class or responding to that letter. You tell yourself that you’ll do it, but the problem is that while you might have forgotten it during the day, You will remind you of it as the clock strikes bedtime, and you will feel the wrath of Your guilt.

This is something that usually happens on a Sunday. Because nothing has more promise at the beginning while proving to be a complete waste of time quite like a Sunday (well, except Adam Sandler’s recent movies – wow, I’m being mean tonight). The pressure of a Sunday goal can be heavier than a house that miraculously managed to stay in one piece despite being lifted miles into the air to be slammed down into another dimension/delusion – because you have nothing planned on that sacred Day of Rest-wear (because that’s the closest link I could get from “rest” to “pantlessness” or “pyjamas”) why the heck should you not achieve your goals?!

And so, you fall into a trap, because you might set yourself one Original Goal and then to take the pressure off that goal, you set a myriad of others so you’ll feel super accomplished, and if you didn’t happen to achieve the Original Goal, you have many other things to hang your hat on so You’ll take it better when you don’t achieve it. While you might think you’ve fooled Yourself into not caring about failing the Original Goal, You never forget, and You is a relentless bastard. You don’t care that you did the laundry, contacted the real estate agent, went to the gym or wrote that letter, because You knows what you didn’t do.

And You will punish yourself for it with weird stomach sensations and repeated vision of future you suffering from obscenely over-blown consequences as a result of failing to achieve the Original Goal. So eventually, You is so harsh on yourself that you give in, and do a laight-night slapdash job as accomplishing the Original Goal so you can go to bed. Because You don’t care if it was half-arsed, You just wants to tick off the first thing on the imaginary list so you can go to sleep.