Starting anew with my caloric responsibilities. Recent and ongoing stressors, weathering my resolve, have driven me to eat like a toddler at the Keebler tree. I'm trying to start the day with a solid foundation, food-wise: The breakfast sandwich. One egg fried in canola spray, two similarly fried slices of turkey bacon, a slice of Monterey pepper jack cheese, and half of an avocado mashed into the top half of a toasted multigrain sandwich thin bun. I downed that action with some caffeinated soda squirts a la my whitest personal appliance, the Sodastream. Let's just go ahead and log that into FatSecret to make things just a tad more pale around here. Not to mention, a third of my breakfast was avocado toast. Refill my mimosa at your next brunch, my fellow alabaster bros.
We are trying to sell our house. That means packing. That means painting. That means working with the wife to move forward on those things. We generally fail to see eye to eye on operations. I, being the one of the two of us with past managerial experience, seem to think I know better. She, being incredible at the same position at her respective places of employment, tends to end up being the only one that knows what is happening. I have plans, she has plans. The overlap is minimal. If you enjoy that 'blood in your stool/panic attack' type stress, be sure to add a deadline toward this endeavor that doesn't so much have a set date and time, but dictates an approach that requires everything be done as soon as possible. You both work full time, you say? You are currently raising a toddler, you say? You have multiple obligations beyond your baseline, you say? Social engagements, you say? Deaths in the family, you say? Just make sure to have all of your heart attacks on company time. Bigger payout for the bereaved.
To find a moment would be a luxury. So, my usual means of therapeutic writing can't seem to make an appointment with my self. I enjoy the pen and pad so I can sit with the thoughts a bit. This feels like a sprint. There are reasons. I am working right now. Listening to Shostakovich's 9th in E minor. My man. If you haven't ever, do. Cartoonish insanity with some beautiful resolutions within the margins. Allegorical to current events, I'd argue. I'm going to utilize the internet the way the lord, Hades, intended and seek knowledge on Dmitri... Ah, there are many a book on my man. We'll just drop a few of these into the 'want to read' column and revisit. Turns out he knew Stalin in some capacity. Will we have to compartmentalize the music from the man? Knowledge can be a real motherfucker. We shall see.
Don't tell the boss I'm unloading on an all but forgotten b-squad social media site where I have maybe 5 followers. Shout out to the Cinco Psychos. I felt it might be in my best interest to find a way to un-clench my jaw. I think the 'clenched' status is going on a month now. Rafiki voice: "It is time."
My aunt Cheryl died Tuesday night. It was reported to me on Wednesday morning. You know, just before work. A woman who had been in my life for all of my 45 years twirling about the sun. She's gone. Not to mention we lost her son, my cousin just earlier this year. She had grandkids. He had daughters. I barely had a moment to maneuver my cousin Chris's death before I heard the news Wednesday morning. Cheryl passed away from the same cancer that took my dad. The great K-Dubs. The last conversation that Cheryl and I had revolved around her concern for how I rough house with Violet. She wanted to make sure I take care of my daughter properly. I plan to honor those last requests.
So, what is the move? I've lost my map. Navigating these waters is futile. Fate is in Hades's hands now. I'll tell you what you cannot do. You are not allowed to cope with that level of bad news without a full day at a job you moderately tolerate. Go to work bitch. They'll give you a box of tissues. Wipe those tears away between emails. This is healthy and fine.
Let's follow up that work day with a visit to the dentist that has been years overdue. Get berated by the tech for not flossing, then run some errands with half your face numb and sliding off your skull. We need groceries. The baby needs milk. Kelly needs almond milk for smoothies. You need eggs for breakfast sandwiches.
To be honest, I used some of my free time to check in on mom. She lost her sister. I'm not alone in grief here. I had to make sure she was maintaining. She was. Probably better than I. Maybe she's doing worse behind closed doors. That being said, the takeaway for me was that this is something common enough in old age that you have developed processes in which to grieve. It made me feel like a novice, at best, in that regard. I'm sure I'll get the reps in. Mom has endured enough to solidify her routine.
That's probably the hardest part. I need time for me. I feel like I should be there for my mom, my brother, my immediate family, extended, etc. as well. My capacity to prioritize my responsibilities dwindles as ye scroll of tasks drops and rolls away from me as I read it. The budget will not allow for a life coach. Let's explore what the modest budget might offer as an equivalent. I bought a salmon/tuna poke bowl, extra sauce, extra spicy.
discoholicmusic
kianamaiart
annaxmalina
blakekathryn
dededos