slack for the slacker
December 09, 2015

I wanted to bake last night. I really did. At least a few dozen of the sugar cookies from the made up dough in the fridge.

But by the time I got home, made dinner, did dishes & cleaned up the mess, and did my morning prep for Wednesday--well.

I went in my room about 7:15, made up my bed, turned on the electric blanket to warm it, and made the mistake of stretching out on it, "just for a minute".

Woke up at 8:45. At that point, I surrendered to the inevitable. So I ran the dog out one last time, turned out the lights, and went to bed.

And felt like an utter failure for doing so. Which I can't help--I have a lifetime of mental illness (both my own, and my mom's) to thank for it. The feeling like a failure comes very naturally. The talking myself out of such thinking requires effort.

I just have to tell myself:
"If you heard about a woman who got up at 4:25 in the morning, took care of her dog, got washed and dressed, drove 45 minutes in morning rush traffic, worked her ass off for 9 hours at a demanding job, drove another 45 minutes home, once again took care of her dog, made a lovely dinner of spaghetti with Italian sausage and marinara, tossed salad, and garlic bread, then cleaned the dishes and the kitchen afterword, picked up the house, emptied the wastebaskets, took out the trash, laid out her clothes and set up her coffee, meds, and lunch for the following day, and made her bed--you wouldn't expect her to bake. AND THAT WOMAN IS YOU."

So why is remembering to step back and tell myself that so hard?