worry, worry

The less time I have, the more I find myself trying to do. This is as a rule: it's the reason I came out of graduate school with not one, but three manuscripts. It's the reason I come up with (and execute) new designs, invariably, the week before a show. It's the reason I take on extra jobs, offer help (even when it's not necessary), and push really hard right up to the wire, even though I might have been slacking off a bit beforehand.

Most of the time it produces excellent results, especially in combination with the high expectations I set for myself.

Other times (often in combination with other stresses--you know, the ones I haven't planned for) it produces anxiety, worry, irritability, and general ennui. I overwhelm myself with all the things I want to do.
Right now the list (and for me, lists are stress-reducers mostly; occasionally they do make me more anxious, but then I stop using them for a while, loosen back up) includes a skirt in grey cotton and yellow linen for myself; a cream wool winter coat, also for myself; a cashmere skirt (um, ditto). And then, um, packing all the things I own, or giving them away, or using them up? Oh, and also a slip dress like the one in the spring Marie-Claire Idées (on the page with the painted wardrobe) and a quilt for Brian for when I'm gone, and a little jacket for me (and two or three for the shops?) and a long, many-pleated skirt in dark brown linen (ooh, also for me).
And I keep having more ideas (true to form) and, and, and. This one does not know how to cut herself off.

I did edit this just now to take out the personal bit at the bottom. Still not comfortable with that. I know Bloglines users will still be able to read it, and that's fine, but didn't really want it out here for eternity. Suffice to say a family member's ill and that kind of puts my crafty worries in their place.