I have the remnants of a callus on my right hand. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you where it came from – I don’t “work with my hands,” as the saying goes, aside from typing. But I like it, I like the callus. It doesn’t hurt except for when I look at it, because it reminds me of my dad.
My dad had the hands of a working man. Callused and hard, the opposite of his heart, which was soft and warm. He was a squishy man, on the inside. So full of life and love. This callus reminds me to strive to be more like him.
I’m supposed to be out of town this weekend. Instead, I’m hiding out in my bed. I told family and friends I didn’t feel well, so I wouldn’t make it to my hometown. It’s the truth – I don’t feel well. But I’m afraid I wasn’t completely honest. And I’m afraid my depression is making a comeback, and I’m afraid I don’t know what to do about it.
I slept most of today and now it’s almost 10:00 pm – when I’m usually in bed, about to fall asleep – and I’m nowhere near sleepy. I still have a lot of that urge to lay here and stare at the ceiling (or the wall, when my back starts to hurt and I need to readjust), but I’m trying to push through.
I’m pretty good at saying no. Not all the time, and not even a lot of the time, but when I really want to say no? I say no. Not a problem. I can say no to little things and to big things.
It’s saying “yes” that I need to work on. Because saying no comes so naturally sometimes, and the antisocial introvert in me can be so powerful sometimes. If I want to have friends I need to actually spend time outside my house and, well, make friends.