This is inspired by a text I sent to Rob this morning wherein I wondered if eating a Pop Tart solely in order to get something in my stomach before taking medicine was the best choice I’ve ever made…(it wasn’t, in case you were wondering).
Image via Creative Commons
When I’m 33, I’ll make better choices.
I’ll be kinder to myself.
I’ll forgive myself and others quickly and easily.
I’ll allow myself to heal by letting go of the past.
I’ll indulge more in that which brings me joy.
I’ll learn all the things I ache to learn.
When I’m 33, it’ll be okay to be me and to do what I do.
When I’m 33, I’ll stop confusing “taking care of myself” with “frivolity”.
I’ll stop making excuses for not following my dreams.
I’ll stop apologizing so much.
I’ll stop saying “It’s okay” when it’s not.
I’ll have my own back for once.
When I’m 33, I’ll make myself a priority.
When I’m 33, I’ll be much more responsible.
I’ll pay off my debt and save more money.
I’ll only eat healthy foods.
I’ll stop working harder and start working smarter.
I’ll finish my book and get it published.
I’ll spend more time in the kitchen and less time in front of the TV.
I’ll find balance in all areas of my life.
When I’m 33 I’ll truly be a grown-up.
But for now I’m still 32.
So for dinner I’ll have a bowl of shells and cheese because they’re delicious.
This weekend I’ll do whatever floats my boat because “it’s my birthday weekend” and that’s a completely valid excuse.
And because I have an indulgent and wonderful husband.
And because, after all, I’m still only 32.
33 starts Monday.