hang-dog Hilda………

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In a truly awe-inspiring, amazingly performed act of self-pity, I asked John last night:

“Why does my life feel so hard. Every time I think I’ve taken two steps forward someone knocks me back? Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy? Why meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?”

This above plea, was accompanied by tears streaming down my cheeks, my hands gesticulating, not dissimilar to Madonna in Evita as she sang Don’t cry for me,  Argentina on the balcony.

Naaaaah, I’m kidding, but I rather enjoyed the picture that I portrayed there for a brief moment.

I look around me, and I’m surrounded by blessings. Like, not just ordinary blessings, but momentous blessings. Blessings that happen daily and of course also being surrounded by  the ordinary blessings too.

I don’t feel I have to announce my blessing on a daily basis to help me appreciate them. It’s just that, well, Molly has a way of getting all the little things in perspective on a daily basis. So I see them regularly (blessings) on a daily basis, thank you very much!

My point is: self-pity is fine for a while, but you can’t mope around for decades.

It’s just that  I know someone that’s moped around for decades and walks around like the world owes her something. And lately well…its been getting on my tits.

So last night, I “why me-ed?” myself for a good 20 minutes to John.

 And that’s fine. Its allowed, but by Jove, please don’t let me carry on for decades.

Please shoot me in my knees. Please slap me open palmed across my face. Please put your hands on my shoulders and shake sense into me.

Just don’t let me have a haaaaaang-dog,  woebegone face etched in misery.

Especially not for 4 decades.

As we sometimes say with fondness in this house:

“Fok voort mense!”

 

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4 responses »

  1. One day when I was having a poor-me mope, a friend told me to build a bridge and get over it. Whenever I feel like I’m feeling too sorry for myself, I tend to think of that.

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