Is the title of a book my husband bought me for my fortieth birthday. It’s all about how to say no; to stop doing things you don’t like with people you’re not keen on.

You see, my problem is that I say a very enthusiastic yes to a lot of things, and then procrastinate and bitch and complain when it comes to getting them done. Some things are easier for me to get on with and actually do, than others. A lot of the things I say yes to only benefit other people, and the things that slip down my to-do list as a result usually benefit only me. Luckily, the people I’m not keen on generally don’t ask me to do stuff. Maybe the feeling is mutual…

So do I need to be more selfish? I’m in a pretty privileged position of not having to work, and so to be able to fill my time with what I choose, as long as it doesn’t cost us too much money. As a side note I think I still have some underlying guilt about having this opportunity. Even though we have a partnership, I am not the one that makes the money, and maybe I feel that I have to justify my ‘luck’ by doing things I don’t enjoy as much so I too can reach for the wine after a hard day, to feel like I’m ‘earning’ my keep. I do take on things that I don’t enjoy as much as others, and because of my position, this is always by choice. It’s certainly not due to any pressure from the same husband that bought me the book I mention above!

But I think this is my dilemma: what if the things I enjoy aren’t as worthy as other endeavours? I quite like sitting and reading in a cafe, wandering around the shops, gossiping with friends – I always have. Do I have to stop doing these things to do and do something more worthwhile in the eyes of others? Maybe I should be getting really good at Russian (actually, getting any where near good in Russian), or doing work with charities, or doing more exercise? And if I do these, who I am really doing them for?

Whenever I write, I feel my heart rate increase with excitement. If I’m not sure what to say, or how to phrase a sentence, I sit and wait and then I can just hear it. I love it. When I write – and in the midst of NaNoWriMo I was writing a lot – I would wake in the night, dialogue buzzing through my head. I’m about a third of the way through this book, with strong ideas for another, and this is definitely something that I absolutely give a fuck about. Along with sitting and reading, and watching TV, and going round the shops, of course.

Time is short. I want to care about all the things I do in my life, apart from the unavoidable crap none of us can avoid. But it seems like the stuff I should care about – like learning another language, for example – might have to fall by the wayside for the stuff that I genuinely do feel passionate about. Part of me is disappointed in myself for not being able to summon enthusiasm and passion for something which I thought I would enjoy and would benefit from. But the other half of me – the indulgent sofa-dweller that lurks within – thinks that I should feel lucky for at least finding something – the writing – that I care about, do relatively well and enjoy, while actually having the time to do it. Or maybe I’m just not used to hard work anymore? And Russian is hard.

I think it may be time for me to start doing the stuff I give a fuck about, more, and quit the   stuff that feels like a slog. If the rewards from the hard work don’t feel worth it, is it OK to not care?

I may have to sit on the sofa, and think about it for a bit…