Less is more...

I was thinking about last night, about feeling as if I hadn't done enough if I was going to write about my day.  And it got me to thinking about how hard I work whenever I have visitors.  Now, mind you, I want to be a good hosts to my guests.  I am from the South, after all.

However, there is this part of me that very, very, very much wants to be me when I have visitors.  I want to be the one who is so exhausted that she does little each day.  I want it to be okay to not cook or clean or go out and about.  I want it to be okay to sleep as much as I need.  I want it to be okay to not hide how horrible my night was.  I want it to be okay to not pretend that I am better than I am.  I want my wretched misery to be accepted, even welcomed.

I wanted to write this more eloquently, but I am weary tonight.  I am weary in spirit, thinking about the MRI shenanigans, the battle that has been for me.  I am weary in spirit, thinking about being triggered for so long and realizing what I believe about myself.  I am weary in spirit, thinking about how my mother hung up on me, again, when I tried to talk about needing financial help.  It guts me that my parents have given tens of thousands of dollars to my sister for my nephew's schooling and refuse to help me, the one who doesn't have a job, who is on a limited income, and whose medical and dental expenses (from illness) are devastatingly overwhelming.  I feel so very worthless.  And when she hangs up on me, I feel like dirt.

But I do wish I could just be me, the ill me, when I have visitors.  And I wish that I would have a visitor who longs to cook with me as much as I long to cook with another person (or at least mostly as much as I do).  SIGH.

On a totally unrelated note, I will say that Amos has go NUTSO over playing fetch.  After seven and a half years of living with me, Amos has decided that he likes playing fetch.  In fact, he's even learned to share the bone or ball with me so that I can throw it.  For hours.  And hours.

I am glad that he is getting more exercise and that we can play together, but he's also exhausting me.  If I am not careful, he will sneak a bone or ball up to bed at night and in the morning after breakfast to have some play time before sleep.  He wants play time before and after the treadmill.  Before and after our nap.  Before and after dinner.  And all evening long.

I love that he's so happy.
And enthusiastic.
Perhaps, though, a little less enthusiasm could still be good?

Do you think it is possible to teach a puppy dog that less is more?