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Next stop- Glad Town. It’s time to leave this pity train at the station.

I’ve been saying this a lot lately- life is hard, yo. And people tell me, ‘it’s what you make of it’; ‘it will get better’; or ‘it’s how you perceive it’, or something like that. Well, sure. I’m usually a glass half full type of person, so I do work on being happy. BUT….

sometimes- it’s hard. Yo.

I’ve been wallowing in self-pity and misery lately. Not all day, not every day. But sometimes. It can be triggered by something small like a glimpse of my muffin top in a picture on Facebook and I’m like, “Really? I looked like that? Ugh.” Or maybe Emma is being a 13 year old pill. A sassy, cranky, hormonal pill that I want to give her back a dose of her own medicine in the form of my own cranky, hormonal 40 year old pill-self.  Or it might be a big thing, like my parents and the real life troubles they face as they age, care for my sister, and go through health problems of their own.

So yeah.

I’ve been ultra critical of myself lately too. Nitpicking over ever little pore, wrinkle, and gray hair. It sounds so stupid to admit. There’s people who are scarred and disfigured that have better self-love than I do lately. What is my problem?

Compliments are nice, they are. I like hearing them. It beats an insult, that’s for sure. But they sort of go in one ear and out the other.

Someone can tell me I look nice, and the next thing I am doing is focusing on how flabby my arms look.

You would think that I would be motivated to go work out. Do something about it. But no. Instead, I just curl up with the dog, get on the internet and buy myself something I hope will make me feel better.

What does that say about me? It says, I’m pitiful, and I need to stop.

Once in awhile, a woman will go buy a pair of shoes or a lipstick to boost her mood. They don’t call it retail therapy for nothing. I believe in the power of retail therapy. I do. But be careful. How many retail therapies are you taking, and should you be seeing an actual therapist?

Retail therapy at the cost of the family’s budget isn’t okay. Not paying the life insurance premium because you went and got some stuff at Sephora, then feel guilty about it, so you avoid the bills altogether, is wrong.Trust me, I know this from experience.

It’s poor therapy management, I say.

So back to me and my pitiful self.

I’m working on finding the silver linings. The half full glasses. I usually do. I’m pretty much a Pollyanna.

But Pollyanna was what? 12? I’m 40 and  I can see why the aged get cynical. I’m going to be a crusty old biddy sitting in my support hose and dentures if I let myself carry on like this. Shaking my head at the news and saying phrases like, ‘kids these days’. Folks will pass me on a park bench whispering to their friend, “Remember Frugie, she was so cheerful and positive, what happened?”

So I need to stay young at heart.

In the movie Pollyanna, they renamed the town she was in, ‘The Glad Town’. Right? She broke her legs falling out of a tree and is still smiling. So yeah. What do I have to complain about, for gosh sakes?

I need some Pollyanna lately. And I need to not look for it at Sephora, Nordstroms or Target. I need to find it in me.

Life IS hard yo. But I’m going to try and not let it get me down.