Self-Flagellation Exacerbation

Dear John,

 

I went to the South Bend airport and back with no problems. Jen and Elyssa are in Florida, where the humidity has already given Jen an afro. I gave her hugs to give to Danica and Tanya. And I got the car washed and had dinner at Chipotle. And the freeing rain has been moved back to tomorrow night.

 

This week shows why you shouldn't have left me here alone. Last week I worked extra hours, including one night that I got home after 9:00, and I had the energy for it. So I had a list of chores for the weekend and got none of them done. I didn't even have the energy to knit.  Without you here to rein me in, I've been beating myself up for being lazy and irresponsible.

 

You were always my reality check. When I was too exhausted to realize why I was exhausted, you'd remind me that I'm dealing with a chronic illness whose primary symptom is exhaustion. It appears to be self-evident, doesn't it? But not to me, it isn't. You leave me here, and what do you think's going to happen? I'm going push myself too hard and then beat up on myself when I crash. You left me here alone, and you know that I can't be trusted with myself without supervision.

 

To sum up: I need your help. I always trusted your perspective, and I need to hear what you see and think. Am I doing too much or too little? Is it okay if the house doesn't always come up to my standards? Should I die of shame over the state of the floor around the dog's water dish, or should I accept my limits and just put a big brown rug in there? Or do I have to do the hardest thing of all - learn how to make these judgments for myself?

 

As I see it, you have three options. Either come and talk to me about this, or pray for me, or both. I'd prefer both. Tonight I miss your wisdom that I relied on for so long. Can you still share some of that, and not leave me quite completely alone?

 

Love you so, so much,

Joan.