One thing at a Time

I'm practicing that thing where you treat yourself like you're somebody else instead of yourself.

Wait, that's not exactly it.

Where you treat yourself like you would treat someone you actually like.

Not good either.

Where you tell yourself what you would tell one of your friends in the same situation - yeah, THAT'S it.

So I either get up very early or very late, in general. That's how it goes - either I get up with the kids, when Matt's away or I have stuff to do, or I let myself sleep until I feel rested, which is never, so I force myself to get up when I'm too embarrassed to actually stay in bed any more, and that's late. The CPAP machine hasn't been the miracle cure I hoped for, but I don't snore any more and theoretically at least I'm getting more deep sleep, so that's good.

But for the last two days I haven't had to get up for anything, and I've gotten up earlier than usual. Just been awake, and felt able to get out of bed without throwing up or feeling dizzy and heavy-limbed and weepy.

So maybe, after a year, the CPAP is actually doing its work, and maybe I will gradually improve until I am able to experience waking up at a normal time as a normal human activity, rather than a hellish, screaming ejection into agony and harm.

OR...

maybe I won't, maybe I'll stay the same. That's okay, because this week I had a couple of good days.

My husband's been away about three weeks out of the last eight. I found it more difficult than I have recently. I'm not sure why - Eve got sick both times, and it coincided with the craziness of school and fall activities starting up, and I just felt a little not-right mentally. For whichever reason, I felt like I was surviving, not thriving, and things in the house and in my course were a little bit neglected. A couple of days ago I picked up a book on hold from the library that I really wanted to read, and bought a couple of books because I was in Indigo to buy a birthday gift and, well, books. I gave myself a stern talking to, though, and said no reading the books until I got the basement storage room in order, even though the very thought of tackling that briar patch makes me go fetal.

OR...

I could realize that sometimes it's just hard being a solo parent for a week and a half, even when your kids are spectacular human beings, and that spending an afternoon or two with Fred Vargas BEFORE attacking a hideous chore might put me in a better frame of mind FOR that chore. Or even if it doesn't, maybe I could do it anyway, just to be kind to myself, because my course assignments have to get done (they have), but fixing the basement storage area doesn't, not right away. 

If I was a better blogger, I'd probably rack my brain now for a third thing to place in this pattern, because three things is a nice balance for anything like this, isn't it?

OR...

I could stop now and go read my book.

Be kind to yourselves, people. It can be done.