It's been an illuminating week.
Not all of the above is true.
Mostly it was a long stretch of despondency interspersed with knee-slapping moments of enlightenment. And pterodactyls (one attacked me near Granville Island).
I know that they make a drug for whatever it is that I have. It's probably Valium or Prozac or Ritalin or a lobotomy. But running works for now.
Po and I talked about souls today. Such an overlooked part of who we are. Is you soul healthy? How often are you checking in with your soul?
I want answers, but everyone wants answers and we're all doing the best we can.
I want to start being a better person immediately, but it's a lengthier process than that and part of the process is accepting your failures first, instead of railing against them. Your catastrophes are as much as part of you as your successes.
Love yourself.
It sounds easier than it is.
Let's try, shall we?
2 comments:
Yes, let's do... did you know your success is that you survived your catastrophes? And this is coming from a woman who is a walking catastrophe, a sit-com in action, a real to life cartoon.
That "I love you" is like the fatherly love. I'm coming to think of you as my other daughter that has moved away and I never get to see anymore. I love you, little girl.
My catastrophes are few but the ones that exist are enormous. I'm not sure that I have survived them. I think I'm hiding them and pretending they never happened.
Prozac is what I've been prescribed but, in the long run, it hasn't been beneficial. Give the drug world a whirl, if you think artificial assistance can help. Hell, it works for some.
The whole loving yourself or liking yourself thing is a wonderful concept that I never quite managed to adhere to. I must be wired in the old ass backward style. I cannot love myself. Me sense of love comes from being loved - which is not meant to be in this lifetime.
C'est la vie.
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