The pity party stops today.
I still can't even clean the fucking litter boxes (yes, boxes, plural. I am a crazy old cat lady in training) without feeling I am going to puke, but I am going to stop feeling sorry for myself. I was reading the blog of someone that has, let's say, a similar history to me and is going through a rough patch and I thought about what I have done when it got rough and "the easier softer way", seemed like the easier softer way.
I think about that last day.
That very last day. The day before, the one that I have celebrated for 17 years.
NOTHING in my life can ever be as hopeless as that day. I made it through that. I know can make it through anything. So what the fuck am I whining about?
"Oh, I am scared I'll do bad at my triathlon..."
Boo fucking hoo.
What if I am slow?
Newsflash RBR, you ARE slow. At your very fastest race you were dead fucking last and the one before that you beat all of 8 people.
What if I don't finish?
Do my sponsors drop me? Am I dropped from the Olympic team?
Uh, no. I go home and register for another 1/2. I have wasted $200 on FAR more frivolous ventures.
And let's be honest I am one of the stubbornest bitches I know. The odds of not finishing are slim. I have 17 hours to finish it for fuck's sake. I think I can handle it.
Time to put on my big girl pants (still love that one), grab a barf bag, and go clean my litter boxes.
All four of them.
Yeah, I have too many cats.
p.s. Thanks to you all. I really appreciate the kind words. It helped put things in perspective. And Jane and Calyx, I DO feel better.
10 hours ago