I am glad I didn't make big promises for July because it got away from me. I did get peaches, eat my peach ice cream, even managed a day or two with the children, but most of it was spent working my way through not feeling well.
One promise I didn't make, but which I added in was giving myself a week to just feel the feelings and not restrain myself in any way about them. I have no regrets at all.
I am done with July. Now let me think ahead to August...
I think one of the most disturbing reality checks is that no matter how many years away from self-abuse, and self-sabotage I might come, at some point, when I'm overwhelmed or too tired, or hungry, or sorrowing, I will find myself smack in the middle of thoughts of what I might do. Never good things, mind you. Stinking thinking sorts of things, things that hail right back to the days of not caring for myself but reacting with destructive behaviors.
I've never been an alcoholic, but I understand too well the desire to drown my sorrows, albeit my drownings include compulsive overeating, indulging in behaviors that undermine my self-esteem and make me feel shame. There they are, bold and stark and demanding as always, beckoning to me wildly. "Hey, why don't you...?" they shout at me.
I sat down the other night weary to the bone. Beyond that even, weary to the core of my soul. "Why?", I asked myself. "Why am I so very wearied just now?"
Well, it's not just now. It's been building over the past few months. Starting the long waiting day of March 21 and going all the way through this past weekend. Sunday evening, I sat down and looked at my calendar. There was nothing to do. No appointments to keep, no bills to pay, no big chores planned, no time out with the grandchildren. I don't need any groceries, or to run any errands.
I have a secret love. Mind you all, it's been ongoing for years upon years, but here lately I've indulged in it more and more. I like to watch vlogs about small apartments. We're talking anything from 191sq. ft., to the 2m sort in Paris. Deep city apartments, lost in the boroughs and arrondissements. I love seeing how people utilize their tiny spaces, some of which are rented and some of which are owned.
Do I have any desire at all to live in New York, or Paris, or Italy, or Chicago or Los Angeles? Nope. None. Not at all. I am very much a girl who must have her green space right outside her window, be free of traffic noise and fumes, and be able to access her home without climbing five flights of stairs or walk six blocks to the corner grocery. I am and always will be a country woman and quite happy about it. But I love the glimpse into a life that I don't know and never shall.
I was meant to be gathering images for a collage that marked Past, Present, and Future for a weekly task in a study I'm working on. Since I have only a very few magazines on hand, most of my images centered around words clipped from pages and a handful of pictures that represented things important to me. Frankly none of them represented my past, of which I feel I've had a gracious plenty! Instead, I focused on what I wanted to see in my future. Some of what I have now. A lot more than I have now. I had slowed considerably in clipping and started scanning articles as I flipped through one of the last magazines. Suddenly there was a small paragraph that leaped off the page at me.
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately... Oh, let me begin again. As usual, I've been doing a lot of thinking...
Possibilities abound all around me. Things I've always wanted to do, never had time for, or was otherwise unable to do. All the usual excuses come into play here. In the past, I'd cite John's lack of interest, a lack of money, a lack of time, etc. All were exactly what I said they were: excuses. Some had more validity than others, but they were all excuses, nonetheless.
For this last day of June, I have been mildly busy. And I took a long, deep nap, too. I've wished a Happy Birthday to my granddaughter Rosalynn who turned 12 today. I've worked in the shed, made Cheddar Jalapeno bagels and contemplated what I consider to be the real start of summer, the month of July.
It is the last 'vacation' month for the children. Nearly all of them start school at the end of July or the first of August. June was full enough of nice things to keep me feeling I'm more than a drudge but not all the things I'd promised myself came to be. I'm happy with what I did get to though.
But what about July?
I know I've said it before, but July ended up being a difficult month. Not a hard month particularly, but minor illness, sciatica, a ...
