Today AND yesterday, I took a shower. AND did a load of laundry, both days.
And today I made another stab at dealing with my problems in a way that I can barely tolerate.
I hate it more than applying for jobs I do not actually want, that also seem unlikely to want me. Even though I could do a them well, am totally willing to, and TRY to make this clear.
I've been putting this off since the first of July. Or, arguably years. Because I do not enjoy feeling sorry for myself, or crying.
Many people I know are constantly telling me that I am not a failure. I am certain that they all hold themselves to a higher standard, whether they meet it or not. And if they do not meet whatever their own higher standard is, for whatever reason, they feel like a failure. Just like I do. Or Did. Or do.
A couple of years ago, when being introduced, I took to 'whimsically' describing myself as a leech, a sponge, or a bum. At least I did not have to argue about what the standards for success ought to be anymore, and THANK GOD.
Being brave enough to ask the government for help, by myself, because noone will flipping-flapping take care of it for me, is probably the hardest thing I have ever tried to do.
And I am not that good at it. Because it falls far short of my personal standards of success. Or my insomnia or my anxiety or my depression make me stupid and forgetful.
I am at least grateful that I have never begrudged anyone else legitimately asking the government for help with THEIR problems. I have made plenty of mistakes in compassion and everything else over the years. But not that one.
Tomorrow, I am totally going out for a cupcake. Who's in? Wallingford, 3 or 4pm? I would throw an impromptu party, but the cupcakes are kind of expensive, and I do not have the strength to actually invite anyone personally. I'm going to finish up my other blog posts, finish washing some towels, and try to avoid crying.
Sometimes the least you can do IS the best you can do. Or is that vice versa?