I have an MFA in a field that I don’t think I want to be involved in. Today’s revelation: Maybe it’s not that I’m a failure at it, maybe it’s just not something I can do while maintaining a happy and healthy life for myself outside of that work.
I could very happily do administrative-type work the rest of my life. The fact that I’m currently holding down a job, walking my dog twice a day (almost every day, I’ve been getting SO MUCH BETTER), working on sorting my bipolar meds, and talking to my happy therapy lady who’s a hippy but maybe not wrong, is good. My dad said he was proud of me the last time I was home, which. Well. My dad says “I love you” a lot, mostly scrawled on postcards, but the fact that he’s proud of me for getting through this first year in MN where I’m still mostly friendless, working a part-time job, and taking each day at a time—means a fuck of a lot.
I was just raised to believe that you should give as much as you have, and do as much for your community as you can, and so the fact that for the past year I’ve been mostly focussing on keeping myself above water is not in my life-plan. The fact that this coming year might follow the same pattern makes me feel terrible, and guilty, because if I’m not doing good things for other people, what the hell good am I?
After therapy I went to a bakery and bought two cupcakes.
They are gone now.
Tomorrow morning I’ll probably go out for huevoes rancheros because my brain is rly fucking confused and comfort food helps.