To self or not to self

I must admit I was a bit self-indulgent tonight. After I went up and registered W for his new middle school (and talked to a counselor there--wow, what a novel concept, a counselor who was actually interested in helping a student, in talking to him! The ones at his old middle school didn't even return your calls or your emails, let alone give a hooey about a student), I went up to World Market and browsed for about 45 minutes. Got some licorice and a bottle of wine (pinot grigio), strictly for the beautiful cobalt blue bottle it's in--I hope it's at least decent, a stocking stuffer for #1 child, a table runner on sale, some orange marmalade, and a pair of wine stoppers in colors I just couldn't resist. Me-time & money I couldn't really afford. Dammit.

But you know, lately I keep thinking about the fact that I'm tired in mind, body, and soul...I've been working for nigh onto 40 years and quite frankly, there is no retirement in sight. Not unless the BOMITS fairy strikes.* Just knowing I spent almost 50 bucks on things I didn't really need should be a large enough clue that I don't handle money well, so it's no stretch that I have credit up the wazoo that needs paying off. If I didn't I'd be rolling in extra cash each month. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway?

I'm in too much pain in feet, hands, shoulders, hips, knees, wrists to even think about a second job. I'm dead when I get home from the first one as it is. No energy to do anything but eat some totally unhealthy crap, check email, play a few minutes of some mindless game, write a bit, read a bit (all of which can be done either sitting in a chair or in bed), and then die until 6:30 the next day. I know, I know, better diet, more activity=more energy, etc. I can't even get to that point. I'm just bloody tired.

Said friend Laura (see below) goes home and knits a wildebeest after work. Now..I admit, I've got 23 years on her and carry more weight for my height, but it's just agravating. There's so much I want to do. A lot of it is just that my spirit is dead. I've been schlepping papers for someone else for so long, I have lost any sort of self identity. All I can do is be a cranky know-it-all. Is that all there is, Alfie?

*BOMITS: Bag of Money in the Street, credited to my gorgeous friend, Laura.