Minds out of the gutter, we’re talking souls.
I read a precis of a book a looooooong time ago, I didn’t read the book because Terri Hatcher wrote it and I couldn’t be seen in public with that shite. The idea of it resonated with me though: the piece I read talked about how she would burn her toast (accidentally I presume unless she’s also a sadist) and then sit and eat the burnt toast because she didn’t care enough about herself to go make fresh toast. I don’t have quite that degree of self-loathing but I do find myself thinking back to that burnt toast when I do something similar, today it was when I used a coffee spoon to stir my tea. Why didn’t I get a new spoon out? I don’t know, there was a whole drawer full. I don’t particularly like my tea tinged with coffee, there was no valid reason not to get a fresh spoon I was just in a bit of a rush and didn’t give my tea drinking experience a second thought. In fact, it’s so ridiculous that I have a chopstick on my desk. A chopstick I use to pull my hair back when I’m concentrating. It’s there for that sole purpose and yet it gives me a headache every single time I use it. There’s a part of me that feels like a bit of a pillock confessing that. What moron doesn’t make time to find a hair bobble to stop herself getting a headache? This one *points thumb at self*
Why are we all too damn busy to care about ourselves? I’ve included you in this too, my soul won’t let me believe I’m alone in it.
I have a stupid busy life, full of first world problems and too much (literal) dog poo for one woman to handle. From the second I wake to the instant I drop off to sleep – the first, second…tenth time – I am going. Moving. Rushing. Doing. I give myself far too little attention during that time. I shovel meals in stood over the sink so that I can move onto the next thing, I don’t take enough time away from the desk to stretch my body out and regain some equilibrium, I don’t spend enough time savouring that first soul restoring cup of tea in the morning. I just…go. All day long. Every single day.
Is that anyone’s dream?
Of course it isn’t. It’s not rocket science and I bet you’re the same but I don’t give myself enough kindness. What I give myself are headaches.
But I’m the only me I’ve got, so shouldn’t I be trying harder? Shouldn’t we all? Not necessarily in some kind of radical way, just in a making life just a tiny bit nicer way. My life definitely has too few of those little acts of self-love that make me feel that I’m not my own worst enemy, the teeny tiny things that make me feel more Maria on the hillside and less Eeyore on a downer. I need better pop culture references, I know this.
My first act of un-radical self-love is to ditch that effing chopstick.
Are you good at being kind to yourself? Teach me all you know.