I would like to think that this far into my recovery, 13 years post-diagnosis, that I know a few things about myself. Evidently I still have some shit to learn. For example…
Yesterday morning after breakfast Lancelot rubbed my head while I was laying in his lap, sprawled on the couch, and that is apparently the very best way to put me to sleep ever. He confessed to keeping up with the rubbing for a good 20 minutes because I looked peaceful and it didn’t seem to right to stop and possibly wake me.
On Saturday I mentioned to him that I’d seen a bead expo advertised on Facebook. Not only was he willing to go, but he said it sounded like fun, and he then proceeded to help me pick out treasures. I didn’t know that men did this. I also didn’t know how much I could enjoy that.
I’ve also realized that grad school is maybe not the thing for me right now, at least not like this. I’ve been mulling this over for awhile. In some ways the lack of structure and the freedom to work at my own pace is good, but I really am a person who needs (and thrives on) some structure.
I’m also fairly sure that the two big trips this semester haven’t helped with the school issue. My regular routines have been knocked too far out of kilter and life is just, well, it’s just not grand right now. In all fairness, this last weekend, the eight-month anniversary, was better than grand. Good food, lots of laughter, snuggles, massages, just a great time. I love that boy. But I didn’t do any homework this weekend beyond some reading and I know that made a difference.
Sometimes the best thing you can do is be gentle with yourself.