Or as Mister Freud is reputed to have said a cigar is just a cigar.

I’m not moving on for a manager job interview which I thought I’d be perfect for. No matter that I would have hated the job furiously and with great passion. I’m not a manager of much else other than household chores, children and my own needs and desires. Those I govern quite well most days.

That and continued uterine issues left me feeling really bereft. Hard, hard fall for me. I think I had a lot of expectations about how I would perform and that hope and faith were going to lead me to the promised land. As so often happens with me, I expect far too much and become far too disappointed when it isn’t the way I planned. Many times I do govern those thoughts and manage those expectations well. This wasn’t one of those times. It appears that a moderate deviation was enough to send me flying over the handle bars and into a crumpled heap.

I’d like to promise I’ll do better next time. Not sure that I will.

I’d attempted to pick myself up the next morning and went off to Spinning class, which was great. Had a massage which was great. Relaxing and laughing and smiling and happy and feeling good about the future again, great. Big fight with Wonder Sweetie, not so great.

Piece picking up and de-stressing resumes this am pronto. Compassion and Equanimity for everyone I meet STAT. Including myself. Most importantly myself. If I don’t deserve my own compassion, who else can?

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