Please Don’t Feed the Beast

I had the day off from work yesterday, and a list of “to-dos” to, um, do. I slept instead. Weighed down by the pressures of readying for my fourth move in five years, it all became too much, and I escaped into sleep. When awake, my mind went to work bashing me for procrastinating on important tasks, tasks meant to propel me forward into a “better life.” For being 47 and still not “living,” just existing and surviving. For letting RA, rainy weather, nagging depression, and past experiences chase me under the covers.

In spite of myself, I regained some traction by mid-afternoon. I rebounded on my mini-trampoline for an hour, made a green smoothie and raw broccoli soup, read, meditated, did ab and calves work, journaled, cleaned the litter boxes, set out work clothes and prepped coffee for today. I even listened to some 80s music and tried to write here. The last words I wrote were, “I can’t do this.” Jesus, we’re hard on ourselves! And though it’s not as easy as just telling ourselves, “Let go of the past. Live in the now. Focus on this moment. Don’t worry about the future,” that’s what I did. And it worked for about five hours, enough time to care for myself, if not for me, for the cats.

Yes, I’m back to living for the cats.

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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