That clarifies things

Judith Warner has a blog in The New York Times, and lays it all out so clearly:

The timor mortis explanation is really the only way to account for all the lowbrow concerns that have increasingly crowded out my higher thoughts as I advance in my forties. The weeds choking the garden. The hundreds of digital photos that no one has ever seen. The kid-art that hasn’t been hung. All these undone things, all these instances in which I Fail to Meet Expectations (according to the imaginary report card I update every day), derive their urgency for me from the sense that, if did meet performance standards, then I would be living my life to the fullest. If the photos could be put in albums, if I could sit down with the girls to look at them, then time would somehow slow down, perhaps even freeze, like the images on the page.
Every night, for as long as I can remember now, I’ve been swearing I’ll wake up early the next day.
Now, though, I am thinking of giving myself a reprieve.

Rico says we all need to give ourselves a reprieve...