A Little Self-talk

It came to me recently that I feel sorry for myself. Certainly right now, when I'm coughing and snorting and dripping. But also just generally, most of the time. Why? I guess because I'm a widow. That is something I never wanted to be or planned on becoming. But I am it.

And because I'm getting old and nothing can stop that. Except death, which I don't want. But let's not get into that.

Sure, I laugh and joke. I certainly don't go around moping or weeping or hanging my head, but it's there, I think, always. Right beneath the surface of me.

It comes to me now that feeling sorry for myself is no way to live. No way to be happy. Yes, I'm living. But I bet it could be better. 

Well, let's begin now to quit the poor me that I sense when certain things come out of my mouth, and I realize, "Oh yeah. That's a bit of self-pity, even if it is under the surface." 

Yes, let's.