Yesterday my car ran out of gas. Javi was with me, home sick from day care, and as I struggled with the gas can (what is it about gas cans? they mystify me) that I had lugged back from the Shell station he said, "Mama, you're doing the very best job you can do."
It's been a tough week -- I lost my job, I've got pre-wedding anxiety, I am really trying to get a house fixed up to move into, and I find myself paralyzed by exhaustion and lack of funds and anxiety about what's coming next. Ten months ago, I'd be steeping in anger and resentment, and berating anyone and everyone with the story of How I Was Done Wrong. I'd be going to bed sick and waking up nauseated. I'd be short with my kids and mean to my partner. I'd be a train wreck.
So maybe my last post was wrong, maybe I have made some progress. Yes? I'm not wallowing in self-pity, and I'm not trying to lasso everyone else into my circle of misery and commiseration. I'm scared shitless, to be sure, and have had a few choice words to say about my former client. But still. I'm here, I'm standing up. I'm trying to do the next right thing. Life is sweet, really. Life keeps going.
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