My first post on the new blog was going to be something else. But I wanted to put this in.
This week, I’ve decided, is being written off as a shit one. I can’t do anything about it, it was always going to be shit. I am doing a whole lot of stuff that I have not been looking forward to, that needs to be done, and I’m not happy about it. I’m not going to try and deny it, as it makes me feel shitty, I will just get through it by foul means or fair.
The shitty stuff: signing divorce papers with a JP. Cried before, cried during, cried after. Clearing the last of the stuff out of the old house.
In my mind….gasp….it’s allmyfault……I’mworthless…..gasp…..Ideservetofeelshitty….gasp…..myfault…..Ididthewrongthing……I’mgonnabelooooonnnnely andneverfindloveagain….
The little black dog has scampered back into vision. It’s familiar, and doesn’t scare me as much as it used to. I know what’s going on.
To add to the black dog cacophony …….ohmygodIamnotveryattractive…….I have had a very stubborn smattering of zits on my chin, and have endured the trauma of the winter weigh in. This has sent me diving for the diet, off on a mission of puritanism, to expunge the zits and the spare tyre.
My back has been sore, the injury I sustained with marathon training has painfully lingered. I would love nothing more than to go for a run. To get some endorphins spinning, and to shift the lard.
Work has been busy.
Old self would have gone for a run, felt bad because it was painful and I couldn’t do it, then tried to have a low-carb dinner and then said “fuckit” and consumed a bottle of wine and a block of chocolate. And then felt really bad about it.
A newer thing is to say “what do you need?” Much kinder.
I need to go easy on myself this week. it is shitty. I am tired from the crying. I need to give the compassion to myself that I would readily give to my friends or patients.
So I switched on masterchef.
I poured myself a glass of Sauv Blanc.
I made myself curried chicken sausages, with mash. Healthy, warm, nourishing and comforting. I have had a hankering for curried sausages for like, a year, and the chicken sausages are a bit lower in fat than the regular ones. They tasted really yummy slow cooked.
I enjoyed making it, and I enjoyed eating it.
I had a few squares of dark chocolate
And I had a good howl down the phone to a friend.
In other words, instead of shooing away the black dog with a rolled up newspaper, I gave it a pat on the belly, and fed it some curried sausages and slipped some white wine into it’s dog bowl, the little fucker will be slinking off with a sore belly. Take that, black dog. Harr harrr.
There will be time to do the low carbs. There will be a time to exercise. I have run a marathon, and I am not scared of these things.
The time is not now, though.
I used to eat from any form of stress. A little something emotionally uncomfortable….BOOM….to the fridge, or the restaurant. Eat till I was sick. The guilt, and the resolve NEVER EVER to do that again. And then I did.
Today, I gave myself comfort. The cooking, the eating, the enjoying, the talking. The mooching about crying. I feel better. It was what I needed.
Actually, what I would have liked was for somebody to cook it for me, then stroke my hair, then spoon me.
But failing that, what I did was good.