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Hey real quick: be fucking nice to you.
It has once again come to my attention that we could all use a reminder to cut yourself some goddamn slack.
All of *gestures vaguely* this?
Is not normal.
Not consistent with the requirements of a healthy, functioning ecosystem.
I don’t want to go too far down this road and bum everyone out, so I’ll leave it at this:
We are living through a slow-motion catastrophe, surrounded by death, violence, and cruelty, in a culture that valorizes guns and convenience, on a planet we refuse to stop murdering.
I hate to sound like a dusty bag of buttholes about it but holy shit, it’s okay to not be okay.
You don’t need to minimize your distress and exhaustion.
It is not weakness to acknowledge your limits.
Not feeling your “best” when you “need” to? No offense, but big whoop. It’d be more surprising if you were tap dancing through the dark year of our scum lord 2021 at the top of your game. It’d be suspicious. I’d be suspicious.
All you have to do is what you can right now.
Also ask for help when you need it.
Sometimes help just looks like time. Patience. A minute to breathe or a moment of grace. (You’re more likely to get what you need when you ask for it.) If when you walk through the door what you need is a cool, dark room and three minutes of silence? I suggest you say that, then go get it. Same goes for a hug, or a snack.
Near the subject of snacks, my goodness. Your body’s carried you so far.
Could you try to be kinder to it?
Like most of my questions, this isn’t rhetorical. I mean it, and dearly:
Could you be kinder to your body? How? What’s getting in the way?
Maybe it’s a question worth sitting with. Then again maybe it’s not. I trust you to take what you need.
Maybe what you need is a good small poem. Okay, I’ve got that too.
The Poet Envisions His Death
by Edward Mullany
It is true I love
you more each
day, you for
whom I’ve never
written a love
Write yourself a love poem.