Do you have days of falling off the wagon?
I’m not talking about drinking or taking drugs—I do neither, except for a few glasses of wine occasionally. Although now those glasses of fermented grape juice just want to put me to sleep. And, I don’t take drugs—unless you call a Margarita a drug. There is a Mexican restaurant—Miguel’s Cocina--in Old Town San Diego California that creates the best prickly pear margaritas. You know what prickly pears are, don’t you?* Those fruits, green on the outside and beautiful magenta on the inside are sweet, delicious and grow on cactus. What I’m talking about, though, is the wagon holding the peace scale and the happiness quotient.
This is Monday. I usually blog on Tuesdays, and I woke up this morning with nothing to say. So, I procrastinated for a time cleaning up junk email—gosh, I used to like getting emails, and I still do when someone wonderful writes to me, but now I get two feet of ads—and I’m fed up with cleaning up.
Can I just a little?
However, now, as I think about Miguel’s Cocina in Old Town San Diego and sitting on the patio sipping a Margarita and dipping chips in salsa, I feel happier. Whatever works, huh?
While doing my email clean-up, I stumbled upon a kindle book. I opened Rachel Hollis’s Girl, Wash Your Face. I’m sorry, Rachel, I didn’t like your title, so I resisted reading it, but I like what you said. So now you are on my kindle phone list. Any girl who begins her book with “Last week I peed my pants” has some moxie. And has had children, too, which she said was like a rocket launch, and contributed to her present state. If wet pants offends you, congratulations, you have never had bladder problems.
Okay, I got it once again: “You are responsible for our own happiness.” Hollis told me that this morning. Abraham told me this afternoon.
I know it. I’ve heard it a thousand times, but I need to hear it again.
I had fried myself writing—no, not writing, trying to get it online on a site that encourages courses. However, it took days of fiddling. Do it this way, that way, I got it, I didn’t get it, and I was determined to win at their game. And since I hate reading manuals, I was figuring it out with hit or miss. It was my Money Talk course that I had decided not to mention again, but that bugger contributed to my burnt-out mode. It began as a Newsletter, then morphed into a course. I took a Seminar that suggested that I (and anyone else taking the seminar) write a course. I figured the universe had placed that information on my path at the precise time I was writing Money Talk. I tripped over it, and suffer bruises as a result. And the seminar fried me, and I’m tired of sales pitches. So, what do I do?
I charged for my course. And I felt guilty about it.
But hey, somebody has to buy those margaritas.
The good thing about life is that if we wake up in the mornings, we get another chance to make it good.
It’s morning. It’s Tuesday. Hurray!
How’s your life going?
You know something? We’re all in this together even when we feel alone and fried.
I wish I could invite you in.