As much as I’m trying to deal with my piss poor mood, it continues. My inner critic, as Ms. Cameron from Artist’s Way, is on a particularly loud and judgemental rant last night and this morning. Reminding me of my low-rung social status, of my small circle of friends, reminding me that even good friends don’t want to see me. Sigh. Grumble, grumble, grumble.
I cried last night after reading chapter two in The Artists Way. I’m trying to do morning pages, but they scare me because I know how powerful they are. But they are powerful in positive ways, but part of me isn’t ready for that. To be creative and to really let God in another level. Scary stuff Maynard.
Talked to Ronnie, really miss him. Cried some more. Cried in the shower this morning after writing morning pages. Managed to not cry on the train or at work. This is a particularly brutal round of PMS reminding me that I’m not exercising or losing weight.
But all minor things, really. Just petty, minor details.
My good friend Emrys, on the other hand, lost his father this weekend to a massive out-of-the-blue heart attack. This comes a week after finding out his wife’s chemo was wrapped up for the summer and that she would start radiation in the fall.
And I’m whining because someone said something mean in the kitchen and another someone won’t have dinner with me.
Perspective Leah, that’s all I’m saying.