Me vs my greatest enemy

I am in the middle of a very heated argument.
One that I know will not end satisfactorily. And it's because one of the feuding parties will be convinced of how undeniably stubborn they are, and the other will be frustrated by unchanging circumstance.
This is a no-win situation.
Let me introduce you to the opposing teams: In the left corner we have Jessican't, mild-mannered mum, more the lover than the fighter, the intellectual. Dressed in pyjamas. Comfy ones. With sheep on. Munching a digestive biscuit. Because it tastes nice. In the right corner, exploding with energy, optimism and a long list of To-Do's, and desperately aware of her rapidly approaching thirtieth birthday and all the changes in metabolism which she has been severely warned arrive on the morning you turn thirty, and very aware of the spare tyre inflating around her middle ("You have had two children, dammit!" interrupts Jessican't from her Lazy Boy chair) is the overactive, tracksuit- and sneaker-clad Jessican, nature-lover, sun-worshipper and all-round health-nut. Chewing on a celery stick. Because it's good for you.
Yes, it's true. I'm fighting with myself. Jessica, the blogger, is being pulled back and forth by two uncontrollable personalities fighting to have things their own way.
This is the argument I have to put up with all day long: I must get back to gym, but I hate it. I must eat better, but healthy food is so blechy. I must blow dry my hair, but my hair has a mind of it's own, and without threatening it with a blow-torch, never mind the hairdryer, it pretty much does it's own thing. I must garden more, but I hate getting all dirty like that, and do you even know what size spider is lurking in the agapanthas? I must swim more, but the pool net is SUCH a mission to take off and put back on again. I must be a better lover, but I'm so tired that the moment I enter my bedroom, my body shuts down - which explains why sometimes, when I go to bed at night, the bed hasn't even been made yet, because I have refused to go into that room the whole day for fear of falling asleep at an inappropriate time (like, for instance, lunchtime). I must tidy the house, but I want to blog (oops - third party sneaks in an opinion).
So you see, I really am a mess. And it's an argument I just can't win.
Perhaps it is because there is just SO much that I know I need to get to, need to change, need to do, that I actually don't know where to begin. And trying to do a little bit at a time doesn't really help, because just when you've done that pile of washing, or washed that sink full of dishes, there's another pair of socks, or another dirty teaspoon to start the load all over again. It just never ends! Where is the satisfaction of completing a task, when actually, (and really, this was all clearly laid out in the brochure!) the task has no end!
Jessican and Jessican't battle it out. Daily. One, ever the optimist, insists that the job be done and be done now. The other digs her heals in, knowing that if the job gets done now or later, there will still be more of the same job to do tomorrow. And I am stuck between these two, their stubborn arguments clanging around in my head. Like empty pots crashing together in the sink. Like a tough stain refusing to relinquish itself to a potent detergent.
Jessica, the mediator, retreats to the sanctuary of her ISP. I am absolved of this madness, for a short time, bowed before the cyber-throne of my Mac, offering my daily blog as a penance. Armed with a sense of purpose and salvation, I set off to face the challenges that await me and my split personality. And hopefully, by the end of the day, I will have come to some amicable compromise allowing me to live to fight (myself) another day.