The problem with the daily grind [or at least, my version of it] is that once my shoes are on, I don't take them off. Which means that, by the time I have the opportunity to treat my feet, I lack the energy to do so.
And I'm grumpy when my feet hurt.
Which makes shopping for anything a trial for Beloved because I whinge a lot. Even when I don't mean to whinge, I whinge. And whingeing drains Beloved like a Bad Air Day drains me.
So I have forced upon myself a new routine. Which includes some pre-emptive feet-treating for half an hour each morning. I do have a nifty little electrolysis foot massager thing [which I usually use for an entire hour] and it has worked miracles for me in the past.
Self-care doesn't occur naturally to me. I tend to seek a comfort level and just... veg... there. Very bad for me. I know. And possibly why I have bad teeth, bad wrists, bad feet, bad knees and a bad back.
And it's probably an anxiety/depression/ASD thing as well. Because psych issues can do things to us when we're unaware. But my excuse is not an excuse to keep neglecting myself. I must be aware of my inner temptations and battle them whenever I can.
And I must also learn how to ask for help.
Beloved and I spend a majority of our days in different time zones [I routinely wake up at Fuckoff in the morning and Beloved can sleep until noon when they're able] so help from that angle may take some serious scheduling. My little darlings are no help, either. They're flat out looking after themselves. I spend most of my spoons chasing them into doing what they should have done half an hour ago.
The neighbours... don't want to know me.
And I can't hire someone just to chase me into looking after my fool self. Can't afford it for one. And two - what the hell job title would that even be. Benevolent Author Bully? Get A Life Coach?
Meh. The point is moot. I can't afford to pay someone like that for their time. Maybe when I'm rich.
But on the plus side, I finally have a decent pair of fucking shorts. The key is to look in the right place.