Dangerous Compassions

vintage zine, loving myself, hug fantasy

My friend came over last night when she got off work.  I was telling her how I’m trying to be nice to myself.  My bestie told me for years to love myself, and I couldn’t figure out what she even meant, let alone do it!  Slowly, I figure it out.

Love myself, give myself a treat, give myself a break, allow myself to relax.  Some permission for selfishness–not like being mean to other people, more like giving myself resources and patience, allowing myself to let things slide–treating myself with a forgiveness I might show others.

If I don’t get back to an email quickly–so be it.  If I seem irrational for a while, so be it.  It’s ok to be a little erratic and not make sense.  Sometimes it makes sense, not to make sense.

I spent many years beating myself up, so maybe I can go to the other extreme and see how that feels.  An experiment.  I can always beat myself up more later–for today, I can choose to be nice to me.

I got some cool old zines in the mail in trade.  A zine from 1986.  That was a few years before I started making them.  They’re small and thin.  I like that in a zine, sometimes.  Low commitment, easy to read and reread.  Cheap to mail.

Today I meet with a new doctor.  I hope he has tools in his toolbox.  I hope he’s respectful and smart.

Did you ever have the experience where you had a tea bag and it had a string, and the tea was traveling down the string onto the table to make a little puddle?  What’s up with that.

Did you ever get blamed for something you didn’t do or that wasn’t your fault and feel sad anyway?

Did you ever get insulted by a stranger and it still hurt, even though it wasn’t pertinent to who you actually are and the person didn’t know you and it shouldn’t matter?

Did you ever make a veggie sausage that had a hard part like it was slightly freezer burned and eat it anyway and secretly enjoy the hard freezer burned part?

I’m trying to imagine what my treat could be, post-doctor treat.  How about a hundred hugs.  And Indian food.

Ming had cereal milk for me in a doggie bowl.  He offered to pour it into a cup.  I said it was fine, I would lap it up.  “I’ll close my eyes and pretend it’s not a doggie bowl,” I told him.  “But I can feel it with my mouth.”

The milk was dyed slightly blue from the Lucky Charms marshmallow dye.  Life is full of surprises.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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