So it's nearly noon, sitting in a wingback chair in front of the woodstove... Fuzzboy isn't feeling well, he's exhausted due to overwork, and yet he putters around --- putting out the compost, bringing in firewood. Then he plans on doing some drywall repair. Meanwhile I've been sitting here so long my butt hurts. Shame, I feel shame. Well, I ain't the boss of him and vice versa. He does his thing, and I can do mine, but I feel full of this poisoning shame... the doc says this is why I want to eat.
But changing this is so hard... surrender, he says, become willing to change... Geez Louise, I do want to change, don't I? But I've been beating myself over the head with this for over 40 years, changing this is like stopping a cruise liner, it ain't gonna stop on a dime.
Then I feel shame about both being unable to change immediately and about not being able to accept that... I can't win.
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