Sweetney's Truthiness in Self-Portraits.
I blearily threw the Bird's lunch together, burst into tears upon seeing her tattered blanket scrunched at the bottom of her backpack. Has it been two or three weeks since I washed it? The snarky badass mom inside that is usually there to say, Well, I've never hit her and she was fed yesterday, so... WIN! was markedly silent so I sniffled through the routine. She woke up and Shane had crawled in bed with her, which helped me talk her down from a mounting Mary Jane crisis.
(You may know that the lovely MJs are my very favorite shoe as well.) She wore them for a few days in a row, proving my new theorem called Mary Janes for Days = Whiny Foot Pain. We wrangled her into supportive and sparkly Sketchers and shooed her out the door with the Grandies, sniffling but not sobbing. WIN!
My elbow was killing me- diagnosis is now tennis elbow by default because the braces for tennis elbow help- but I've left the cuff at the shop. I attempted to wrap it in a regular ACE but was unable to get the right amount of pressure. I achieved Purple Arm, then Falls the Fuck Off, but was pretty smug and happy that I was able to secure it by tucking it in using just two fingers and a pen. I may be bold and try again.
Obviously, I'm having an anxiety whammy. The past week has been (another) lesson in Thou Shalt Not Go Off Thy Crazy Meds. Am readjusting. Again. I have a follow-up with my GP who is no doubt going to echo her FNP's gentle prodding to Get Thee To a Therapist. My arguments against talk therapy sound lame even to me, so I may be a good patient and actually comply.
For the rest of the day, I'm planning to get the endless laundry going and possibly work a while organizing in the studio, between reading The Serpent and The Rainbow (So fascinating. Deeply obsessed with Haiti). Later, I'll stop by Aunt Pea's and then tonight Shane will expect some quality time. (Link = naughty. NSFW naughty. Also, shitty design. You are warned.)