bittersweet symphony of my existence

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If you've read my posts since 2006 (highly doubt--this is me wishfully hoping that some shrink is actually reading and will eventually find me pitiful then give me free advice), you know if my subconscious neurons are on armalite mode if I post more regularly than usual. My husband guffawed last night when he saw me constructing my Patrick Star-Data artwork in the previous post.

I woke up and felt that I suppose I'm a Nanny McPhee. Not that I'm seriously ever wanted nor needed (again, the usual self-involvement on the opposite side of the esteem spectrum), but I should constantly remind myself that the reason why healthy insensitivity/detachment is ideal is that it's easier to function. Am I glad I took those Opus Dei doctrine classes before and read extensively on detachment. Not to say I could be the next cloistered nun but those helped a lot. 

I jut wish this "beating myself up internally" would cease. I should focus on  my value--to my family, as a start. 

On a related note, Nanny McPhee 1 & 2 are nice films because Emma Thompson is a brilliant brilliant brilliant thespian. Her small film Wit is good too but a little heavy on the emotion scale.

Back to the grind. Exiting the mind palace...