3.8.16 Fully Loaded

Today while going along minding my own beeswax

I suddenly found myself hijacked, by two crappy junk foods and two crap magazines. 

After  two months of eating only stuff that grows in the ground 

( and eggs and no potatoes or ground grains).

 

I've been eating this way since January began, in part to support my beloved and his condition. And in part because I want to be feeling and functioning better and better each and every day, not worse and worse. In terms of pain, stiffness, hearing, sight, agility, energy, depth of beautiful sleep, healthy bowels.

And  mediating health conditions that are having a trajectory as I sit here, and are scheduled for delivery at some point in the future.   loverly skin and hair and nails, and, well, you know.

After a huge messy struggle and an endless hour, I ripped myself free from the

jaws and teeth and long horrible seemingly unquenchable talons

 of Oh-my-God-I-feel-horrible and, let me tell you, 

fully loaded in terms of 

Gwen Stefani's latest plans

 and Caitlen Jenner's fabric preferences, 

and came out of it, in a flurry.

Almost but not quite succumbing to the old 'Oh, that is so bad!' Or the 'How am I ever going to do this' or even the ' it's useless ... blah blah blah.' 

Because we try hard and make the effort and go the distance and sometimes now and then, we fall flat , bam. Ouch. 

And as time goes by, if we exchange support and take it easy, it happens less and less. 

And if it does? Then guilt and shame are the glue that reattach us to the old default illusion. 

Feeling badly, and telling ourselves we are bad ,

are all useless things

 that keep us crashing and falling.

We learn to sit up and notice when Guilt and Shame have  come on into town, and have noisily bashed in the front door, banged themselves with all their stuff into the living room, and are actually getting quite comfy, throwing their coats on all surfaces, scraping off their muddy boots, adjusting themselves to sit just oh so right,  on their favorite chairs. Taking out smartphones and IPads and their knitting,  library books and journals set just so within arm's reach; putting their water bottles and tea and soda and fancy special Latte's right within grabbing distance and all. And then looking about at each other, before nodding, and then starting in. On telling us how much of a worthless piece of crap we are, how we will never manage this so don't even try, and how ok it is to just slip into keeping on keeping on doing these makes-me-feel-like-crap-and-my-health-suffers-too habits. Lots of finger pointing and stabbing and enumeration of deficits, and , well, you know. 

Really, there is nothing for it, but to make ( visible ) notes about how the outcome didn't really pan out. Of the crash, the fall, the burn. The tiny slip or the 'more of an extended get-away'. 

To remember that CRAP happens. That we even sometimes choose crap. 

That we do what we can to connect with others and go ON about how much we want to do do crap, and exchange that support. Escape the slip, the fall.

To remember that spending even a moment in the self hate stuff degrades our strength and our determination. Our ability to crawl back to where we were, when we got caught and hit sideways to wherever.

We just hear the rumblings of self-depereciation, and shut it down. Quick and efficient.

Because we just want to spend our time Doing What Works. And what works, is just setting ourselves right and climbing up on the path once again.