Grief is a funny thing, because at the weirdest, and wildest times, you feel like you've just been severed at the knees and its time to dig your own grave, legless, and bleeding, and willingly surrender to the darkness.
On the weekends, I work at an assisted living home. Our lovely patron is fond of calling her staff f**king bitches whenever things aren't going EXACTLY the way she wants them to. Last night, I was the resident bitch. I'm familiar with how to deal with the situation: calm speech, redirection, etc. But at one point I was just BROKEN. It was challenging enough to be there, feeling quiet and sad as I was, when I knew that she would prefer more of a party atmosphere. I simply could not dredge up the necessary credentials. On some very base level, I felt that perhaps she was right about who I am.
Its the morning after the night before now. And I still don't feel like wonder woman. So, I'll have a few small goals for myself in order to survive my day with few regrets.
1) Not go with the "F--ing B" prophesy.
I just don't think people would feel good about leaving their precious children with me
if that were indeed who I made myself out to be.
2) Not pick my nose.
Not snack on it.
I think this is ONE area where I can most certainly feel successful in.
Some days, you just gotta start small, so that you can start at all.