Today, I had it out with my garden hose. I’m not proud of it, but I’m in a confessional mood. I’d like to say I won, but that would be like saying I beat myself in a
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Say what you will about my digital addictions because it’s all true. I give my phone more attention than my appearance. I troll Twitter instead of taking those “mini meditation moments” I’m always recommending to myself. Interrupt me
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I’m a people pleaser, from way back. So concerned about being a bother, so very Midwestern, I’d rather risk all my toes, my feet being severed at the ankle, than ask for help rearranging the heavy living room furniture. The nonstop inner dialog
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Lying in bed, I’m making my mental packing list for the journey of this day. I’m not going far and yet the “trip” will be arduous. Which is why this particular packing list is so critical. . . I need my creature comforts to get
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“How many treatments have you done now?”
“3 out of 6”
“Hooray, you’re halfway through!”
I bite my lip nearly clean through.
Again, well-meaning. Again, sets me enraged. What is wrong with me?
Yes, it’s halfway in terms of time, number of
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