Get out of your own way.
That's my six-word novel.
This past week is a climactic struggle.
Kim and Mom and Rick have watched me melt into a puddle of "I need a drink." (make that an exclamation point)
But there is also this voice, be it tiny, which says, "Laugh at yourself, freak."
Yes, I do realize that good voices are not supposed to call you names, but the latter option is barely working for me. Just enough that I don't have a drink and the "freak" goes along with the laughter because aren't we all at one time or another simply a caricature of the best person we thought we could be.
We (all the voices) freak out and realize we could have been doing more and this could be better and why did we wait this long for that and there are those other two things and a million people who would help, that do help, who are helping and we hate ourselves for getting in their way because they already had plenty of things.
Three more days until just hours before and I've been there eighteen months ago when all the we in me finally concludes, "You did the best you could. Let up and enjoy this,
Today I am grateful that Dad fixed my hot water heater, and I was never without a warm bath. I am grateful to be busy and learning and finding ways (small ones, I know) to take better care of myself. I am grateful for my trinity of friends who listen to the insanity of it and surprisingly answer the phone the next day when I (we) call back.