Do We Have An Obligation to Heal?

January 30, 2026 Are we obligated to tend to our wounds? No. We can choose to stay put in pain. But We can also choose to stretch the smallest moments. (Since time is an illusion, within joy is an infinity of goodness, that moment existing perfectly forever, and ever-- athem.) *************************************** Two cocktails in on a Friday night, once again I am providing the company I crave. Aren't I brave, spending quality time alone with my feels, with my thoughts, with my imperfections and beauty. I am endlessly fascinating to me. I never get sick of me. I never reject me. I am my greatest love. That's not true. I do get sick of myself when I am stuck in a particularly frustrating thought that I can't seem to stop turning over in my mind. But I've learned how to break out of those ruts. Those ruminations. Sometimes I like to dwell there. Because I need to understand myself as well as possible. Originally it was to try and avoid specific types of pain again. But now, really, it's just to sort of examine something that has happened to me because how I feel is never apparent and I need some time rotating it in my mind to better interpret it. To assign meaning. To reach a conclusion that allows me to then move forward. Always learning. I know that the right kind of person for me will make me feel valued. Actions align with words. The best apology is changed behavior. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Did my makeup to boost the old ego. She's getting older and wiser, right along with me. But still she needs attention sometimes, and that's fine. I'll always be sweet to her. I'll always make time for her. But I'll remind her she's not in control. She can't steer the ship. But she deserves the attention nonetheless. The injustice of no on to appreciate these lips. These hips. This rhythm. These curls. These curves. What a fucking travesty. But 45 does look much better than anyone led me to believe. I think I'll retain my magic a while. (She says as she inches ever closer to death. What lovely decay, she thinks.) ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ I keep asking people for things they can't give me. So I turn back toward myself. New person. New season. Patterns emerge and recreate themselves until I break them. This shell shows evidence of a life well-lived. I wouldn't change a thing. Loneliness creeps in again, an uninvited guest, I treat him with respect nonetheless. We talk a while, and he leaves me for a little while again. (Third cocktail now. Still feeling gorgeous and unappreciated.) I think I'm taking myself home tonight. ----------------------------------------- It's never too late though life is short it goes on.