I put so much pressure on myself early today that by the middle of the afternoon I'd flat given up. In the morning I was trying to please everybody, and trust me, everybody wanted something from me. I was up in the loft typing forms and down in the bedroom digging through boxes. At the same time.
Eventually I realized I couldn't perform miracles. I don't know why that revelation didn't come to me sooner, because it would have saved me from sinking to the rocky bottom. No, as a matter of fact, I can't walk on water. Please don't ask me to try again.
Some of the things I was looking for never did turn up. I'm almost sure I never had them, because I hardly ever lose things completely. It might take me all day and half the night to find it, but if I have it and you want it, I'll get it for you somehow. But when I hear "Tim didn't keep his copy and he hopes you have one," and I know it's something that Tim never bothered to send me in the first place, it stops being my problem.
Okay, it's still my problem in the sense that I have to explain carefully to everyone involved why I can't make something appear out of the air. Then it stops being my problem — until a week or a month from now we forget and start this lame little dance all over again.
No matter how many times they ask me, though, I can't mold my dust bunnies into puppies and kittens. You can still pet them if you want, for all the satisfaction you might get out of that.