Sometimes it won’t feel worth it at all.
Sometimes you’ll tromp around the house and yell and whine and punch things, and you’ll eat honey out of the jar and demand ice cream, and you’ll put on your fuzziest cheeriest pajamas and none of it will matter because you can’t scratch that itch — not that way.
Sometimes you’ll feel pissed off and alone and incompetent. Sometimes you’ll take your destroyed expectations and mash them into even littler broken pieces because they didn’t stand up the way they were supposed to, and you’re mad.
Sometimes you’ll stare at your computer screen, unable to comprehend the problems well enough to search for solutions. Sometimes you’ll rage and kick and knock your head against the window pane, wanting it to be over.
Sometimes you’ll even think about getting a damn job already.
And then you’ll realize how stupid you’re being. You’ll realize that even with the heartache and the pissiness and the dashed hopes and fairweather friends and everyone being tired of listening to your shit (including you), this is better than you dreamed, this whole taking care of yourself thing. That being free is worth more than being coddled and spoonfed and safe.
And you’ll realize that taking care of yourself is what this has always been about, and you’ll straighten up and your head will quiet down, and you’ll remember that if that’s what this is — taking care of yourself — all the bumping and bruiting about will make no difference. Not until you calm down and take stock of the situation. Or at least eat the damn ice cream and quit being a fool about it.
You’ll realize that only you can take care of you, and — even if you can use the “hormones!” excuse — it isn’t anyone else’s job. Ever. And that’s the way it should be.
And you’ll feel yourself floating, just a little bit. And your clever brain will begin again in its calculations, and you will hydrate and percolate and echolocate, and you’ll have the teensiest idea that perhaps everything is going to be just fine, after all.
And then you’ll tell the internet, just to make sure someone else out there knows, knows for sure, that they’re not alone.
And then you’ll get the fuck on with your day.
Megan Elizabeth Morris (aka MEM, Megan the M.) is a bonafide professional catalyst and adventurer. She's the Ideaschema instigator, orchestrator and autodidact, and you can find out more about her by clicking here.Got an idea? Something we haven't thought of? Whatever you're thinking, we want to hear it. Please feel free to leave comments or email us by clicking here.
