I needed this delivery day

Today was my Meals on Wheels day. I really needed it.

I'm in a funk, and I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'm feeling fat and ugly and mean and miserable. I've been grouchy and bitchy and whiney. I'm convinced that Bub doesn't love me because of how I look (but really, it would be because of how I've been acting). I'm bummed that I have to work so much from home, that I can't get any good exercise in until 9:45pm which is just too late, that we're friggin' broke all of the time (and we're talkin' REALLY broke), that we can't seem to catch a break, waaaaa, waaaaa, waaaaa.

So, today's deliveries served two purposes: to bring food to home-bound people and to give me an opportunity to say "Snap out of it, you boob!"

Delivery #1: wheelchair bound and on oxygen
Delivery #2: wheelchair bound, obese, and diabetic
Delivery #3: mobile, but hunched over, clearly with some form of degenerative bone or arthritis problem
Delivery #4: on oxygen
Delivery #5: diabetic
Delivery #6: frail, almost bed ridden, incontinence issues and a constant vacant stare

Some people would say "But for the grace of God go I," but not me. I don't think that God or Goddess or anybody else is going to save me from that. I am the only one who is going to prolong my mobility, keep my blood sugar/weight/cholesterol/blood pressure in check, keep my brain active, stay healthy enough to enjoy my "golden" years.

The trouble is that I've spent 38 years not caring enough about myself to make much of a difference. I've got to find a place in my brain/heart/gut to give a shit about myself and move past the fear of being noticed, of being important, of being a force to be reckoned with in this world.