Self-pity can be so satisfying. I indulged for a few hours today. ”It’s hot. I am sick of staying home. I want life to go back to normal. I have a backache. I haven’t seen my grandchildren in months.” The more I wallowed, the bigger it got. I was all set to enjoy my misery.
Sadly, before I could wrench up a few tears, I got distracted. A dear friend called, the kind who never changes. We caught up on kids, husbands, and reminisced. By the time she hung up, I’d lost my oomph. She’d ruined it for me. I couldn’t muster up a smidge of self-pity. Don’t you hate that?