It's bad that I really thought that they were in the oven. I went to go check on them and toss them around in the olive oil, and there they were on top of the stove. It all worked out in the end. I ended up putting them in the freezer for a bit after they cooked so that they were cool enough to put on the spinach salad with blue cheese. The rest of dinner was turkey meatloaf and Israeli couscous.
I went back to the library today to volunteer. We were culling books off the shelf that hadn't sold, instead of shelving today. As a result, I saw a lot more of the books and ended up taking 3 of them home. At least I only spent $1.50.
{{{Maria}}}
Sorry I don't have more than that. I'm a little Vicodin-loopy now. Everything hurts. And the medicine seems to be doing more to make me loopy than to make the pain go away. I just found Paper Moon on On Demand, so I'm watching that.
Sometimes drugs just make you not care that you hurt.
Maria, my love, you would never judge any of us as harshly as you are judging yourself. You certainly didn't judge me so harshly when I stayed in a job I hated for EIGHT years, depressed and hating myself and dating someone who treated me terribly.
You can keep pushing yourself harder and harder, it's true. I don't know that it will silence the negative voices in your head more than temporarily.
Vulnerability isn't weakness. Self-compassion isn't self-pity. Beating yourself up isn't discipline. Grief isn't failure. Doubt isn't betrayal.
If none of this is what you need to hear, than feel free to tell me to shove it and please forgive me for sticking my foot in it. I love you very much and I want you to be happy, and it pains me to see you beating up on yourself like this.
Vicodin has such a happy effect on me. It doesn't make me loopy or sleepy. Just makes the world pleasant. So weird. Too bad it's not something I can take just because.
Vulnerability isn't weakness. Self-compassion isn't self-pity. Beating yourself up isn't discipline. Grief isn't failure. Doubt isn't betrayal.
That's some widely applicable good thinking, that is.
I should probably tattoo that on my face.
Unloveable, unwanted, and slightly worthless.
I have no idea who you're describing. This is not the Maria I know. As for bravery, my definition is fall down seven times, get up eight.
Seriously, I need that on a poster I can hang up to look at every day. Excellent words, smonster.
Vulnerability isn't weakness. Self-compassion isn't self-pity. Beating yourself up isn't discipline. Grief isn't failure. Doubt isn't betrayal.
So, so true. And (speaking from my own perspective), so much easier to believe on the behalf of other people than applying it to myself.
