No.

No.

“Taking on responsibility knowing it will wear you down; freedom is a possibility only if you are able to say no.”

– 1517, Rules (Album), Whitest Boy Alive, 2009.

That song came up on shuffle this morning.  I have a cracking headache.  I woke up with it.

I joined my current team 12 months ago.  I love them.  Soon after joining, I needed to share something with them in a group setting for where they could help me.  Everyone had to.  I was deliriously happy, I couldn’t consciously think of anything.  So I let it slip out.

“I find it hard to say no.”

Flaw.

Flaws are not there because logic said they had to be.  They just are.

“You’re tired, Batfay.  Go home.”  So said my colleague yesterday, mid-afternoon, as I yawned again.

I stayed.  Because I said yes to things.

I live to say yes.  This is selfish.  It is about me. 

“No is a complete sentence.”  Someone said that once.  I forget who.  I have a headache.

It’s Working Out Loud week.  I said yes.  Many said no.  I believe in it.  I believe in many things.  Belief drives, without brakes.

I’ve rock ‘n’ WOLed all week, twitter, blog, yammer at work.  Look at me, I wear my undies on the outside.  Horseshit.  I’m human.  Remember.

I’m tired.  People are waiting for me.  Return my call.  Return my email.  Solve my problem.  Yes.  This is my job.  Core.  Care. Yes.

I don’t pick my battles.  I don’t have battles.  But I need to pick my hugs, so I can hug properly.

Holidays are in 6 weeks.  Until then, no more yes.  Lots more no.  Hold me to it.

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