Commitments

Yesterday, I committed to doing morning blogging instead of morning pages. For some reason, the idea of sitting hunched over a notebook with a cool pen seemed less desirable than sitting hunched over a laptop, but I digress.

So, here I sit with a cup of tepid coffee to my left with 10 minutes to go before my therapist calls me. I'm going to tell her about these morning blogs just so that she'll ask about it next time. If I know she'll ask about it next time, I'll panic and have guilt, which all but guarantees at least two more entries between now and the next time we meet.

Part of me says I should write about the presidential debate (which is an insult to the word "debate") since the current sitting president wouldn't denounce white supremacy (and, in fact, seemed to endorse it) but would commit to yelling louder and louder. Holy fuckballs, that man is a complete fucking moron. 

But I'm not going to talk much about that. I didn't watch the ... well, shitshow ... after about five minutes. I felt my blood pressure rise and my teeth clench. It wasn't a debate. It was two old dudes yelling. None of them has my best interest at heart. So why watch? (I'm still voting for Biden.)

Gah. OK. Focus. I said I wasn't going to talk about that topic too much.

I wanted to talk about commitments, and, specifically, how I struggle with keeping them. When I was a kid, I got stickers that my mom put on a mirror. If I got enough stickers, I could get a goldfish. That's dumb. I hate fish. Why did I want a goldfish?

Ooh. Maybe I can give myself stickers for accomplishing things that I want to accomplish. I'd reward myself with good shit, like wine or brunch or adorable boots. A MASSAGE. Hello, Amazon? Do you have "good kids' chore lists with stickers" for adults? 

Anyway. Shit. It's almost time for me to log off and get my butt to work. SIGH. 

I'll see you tomorrow, dear readers. I made a commitment. 

EDIT: Did I forget to mention this to my therapist? I guess I'll find out in two weeks.