Expecting a poem?
I was too until I realized that my poetry juices were too bitter to the taste this week. Instead of mixing together a concoction of words, phrases, and a hint of lyricism, I decided to pour a cup of self-sympaTEA.
Some days I wake up grumpy, miserable, and not ready to be grateful/joyful/pleasant. Nothing I try on looks right or feels comfortable. I forego styling my hair for an extra ten minutes of mediation (aka cat napping) before I have to leave for work. Sometimes I’m just tired and that’s okay.
I’m not perfect. I’m not always dressed stylishly or adorned with jewelry. I don’t always have a positive outlook. I occasionally have no desire to sing along to the car radio. “What’s wrong with her?” you may wonder. “No need to fret,” I’d reply. I’m just realizing that it’s a-okay to have not some cheerful days and that it’s much better to admit to that than pretend everything’s fine.