Tuesday, July 10, 2012


I've been fighting the inner beast. The one who tells you that you need to accomplish more. That you need to live up to your standards. That you need to prove yourself. That the lesser role is beneath you. All that mental hogwash that comes with the trip through life, especially in America.

This job I've started is the smallest place I've ever worked. The smallest little shop. A one room doctor lane and office in one. Just me and my little assistant, Angel, and a few people who sell the glasses. That's it. No MDs down the hall, or insurance people, or other docs calling for help. No one but me.

This life I'm living. I'm thirty-six and I've just moved into an apartment with another girl, Lori. She helped me haul in my meager belongings in all of fifteen minutes.

Here I am with six dresses in the closet and a dresser half full of stuff and a blow up bed on the floor. A blow up bed. The last time I was sleeping long term on one of those was when I was twenty-four.

Am I regressing?

Or do I just not care?

It is more of the latter.

The stuff doesn't matter. The status doesn't matter. The money doesn't matter.

What matters?

Having time to read. Waking up snuggling next to someone I love. Time to think. A little space to breathe. Being free.

I'm sure the demons will reappear, telling me to aspire to more.

I'll keep fighting them and aspire to good enough.

[Sidenote: This band has been haunting my mind lately.]

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