Yesterday involved too much work, too little movement, too much junk food. I’m starting today with too little sleep and I still have too much work to do.
I look and feel terrible, but my mother is dying and my stepfather is so badly off that my mother’s nursing home called me about him. So I may get to complain, but I’m clearly not the one who’s the worst off.
Colette famously said, “Who said you should be happy? Do your work.” But I feel like I’m supposed to be happy. Not like I deserve happiness, but as though it were a law of nature or something.
Not that I’ve been unhappy all the time. I’ve been stressed, though. Way too stressed way too often way too long.
I’m ready for the end of this.