Today is Friday, my day off. I’m sitting outside reading How not to murder your husband , by Stephanie Calman. She shares my grudge of having a so-called perfect husband. You know the one everyone praises and you wish they could live with him for a week and see if they change their minds. Anyway, I digress.
It’s been a rough week and because I’m terribly impatient I expected myself to be settled in already. I started the negative self talk again which often is set off because there’s dirty dishes. I know my mother would NEVER have dirty dishes and so the spiral of comparison brings me down. I’m not beautiful anymore, I am not talented enough, I can’t write, I’m not a leader anymore, I’m not thin (see how petty I’m getting) and lastly I don’t fit in with certain people. Look that’s a topic all on its own. Just typing this is making me sad. 😦 Am I getting depressed? What are MY signs? One of my fellow online friends I should give myself time. She’s right but I keep believing I’m programmed to think that I don’t have time. Everything needs to be felt and learned, now. Old people will tell you this is impossible. They are right but we choose to live differently.
I have never been patient with myself. All my goals and timelines are set to zero and if I don’t achieve them I die inside a few thousand deaths. Then I go for the impossible again. My parents are probably to blame for this and they know it. My memoir will probably have all the details but I must thank them for it too. I have the ability to push through almost any adversity life spin balls at me, even the ones beginning with the capital M, ME. I hold myself back in so many ways it’s scary.
I hope this move to this somewhat sleepy town will teach me about patience.
I need it. Now.