Ode to My Failures: A Burnout Ballad

Welcome to Fucking Over It Fridays

My weekly ritual of publicly spiraling so you don't have to.

Where I dump all the sass, burnout, and pissed-off energy I’ve collected all week and serve it up on an unstable platter.

**What can I say? I can't afford therapy.** 

This week’s victim?

Myself, actually. No one can hate me as much as I hate me.

So let's jump into this self-deprecating soliloquy, shall we? 

My manic, undiagnosed ADHD once again got me in way over my head, and all I could do was watch my latest backstage disaster unfold in slow motion.

For anyone foolish enough to want to emulate my chaotic tango (please, goddess, let that be no one), here’s the choreography:

I get hyped, waltz blindly out of my depth, and set expectations so laughable they could headline at the Comedy Cellar.

act two begins when I can’t keep up or the response falls flat — pay attention, because this is the pièce de résistance. Cue the procrastination spiral, the crushing shame, the embarrassment for not keeping pace, and

the grand finale:

a spectacular bout of depression.

**Thank you. Bow. Blow a kiss. Exit stage left.**

Now, who’s ready for an encore?

After the crash, shame, and dramatic curtain call, I convinced myself it was time for round two — the reckless revival. 

If you’ve read my earlier posts, you already know some of the backstory (if not, catch up here).

honestly? I don’t have anything left to lose: I’m already broke, back living with my mom, and auditioning for the role of “functioning adult” with zero callbacks.

But nothing ever changes if nothing ever changes, right?

Plus, I've apparently exhausted every other option —

**except maybe selling my soul on eBay or Amazon. (They both take used items, right?)**

So I’m back at the drawing board, trying to simplify my goals and sketch out (what I hope is) a more realistic plan.

What I had before was one hell of a rough draft from someone who only half-understood what they were doing.

**I mean, I do have a 15-year-old night-school business associate’s degree, after all.**

I do, I swear. I'm pretty sure those transcripts are on the same hard drive as the 500 Pinterest pins claiming this would be the side hustle that “makes me rich while I sleep,” or some variation of that lie.

Reality check: designing, mocking up, and marketing everything myself eats up endless hours.

Every day reminds me that my time is limited, my energy is finite, and my patience is paper-thin. Oh, and my follow-through? Suuuuucks.

And that’s before factoring in the outside circus acts:
– A soul-sucking, unstable part-time job
– Parenting a very difficult preteen (who somehow gets me yelled at)
– Trying to lose weight while being too lazy to exercise and not disciplined enough to diet
– The looming shadow of clinical depression that has been tagging along **like Peter Pan’s demented silhouette, since middle school.**

I could’ve just said something sooner, but instead… I went dark. Classic me.

My bad. Avoidance basically became a hobby, and procrastination? That’s my love language.

Which brings me here.

Going forward, I’m narrowing my focus — one area at a time — while still trying to build the brand.

Don’t expect new products for now; Witchlist Wednesday is officially on hold. 

For the moment, I want to pour my energy into this blog and really find my voice.

I hope it helps shape the brand and bring more focus to the work I’ve already created (available here or on the Making It page).

I’ll be posting every Friday for What the Fuck Fridays — with the occasional surprise post if I’m feeling generous (or manic).

My goal: to be someone you can count on for at least one blog post a week… baby steps, people. 

Want in on the chaos?
~ Sign up for Getting It — my unhinged newsletter for planner lovers, spooky babes, and broke witches with taste.

Or dive straight into the shop:
~ Midwest & Making It

Get Caught Up:                                  ~ Last Time on FOIF: Midwest Rage vs Machine Learning

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