Why Can't I?

Following a recent loss, many people have told me to take care of myself. Lovely, thoughtful, intelligent people, who know from their own experiences that one must pamper one's self and slow down some to stay sane. They are concerned and compassionate, and I do feel slightly stricken when I hear it because I know I am not doing it. I am a mother, I work full time, and I'm not sure how to squeeze in the taking care of myself part. If I do go to the gym, or manage some yoga - which, in honesty, I am just getting back to after months as a sloth, eagerly saying I'll probably go and then never going - I am so goddamn tired that I take a bath and sleep. It is definitely caring for myself but I am more not doing it than doing it. I also have to not do all of the other things I'm supposed to do but I'm not, like organize my clothes, clean my bureau, help the children organize their rooms, and sort through the many piles of varied things I accumulate everywhere, at home and at work. I am really busy not doing a lot of stuff.

Plus there is a part of me - not the poor-me part, I'll skip that - but another, brazen, immortal part that truly believes I should do whatever the hell I wanna do. Why can't I smoke a fucking cigarette for crissake? I used to smoke, I enjoyed it immensely, and then something overtook me - a tiny moment of forward thinking? - and I realized I could not do that. But why? It is so much fun. Why am I of the age that I must know that some things are good for me and others are not? I hate knowing. I don't wanna know. I would like to eat a chocolate donut and dip it in coffee and I would like some fried chicken and I would like to watch more television, and go to more movies. I would like to have several naps a day.

Perhaps the best solution to the time crunch plus resistance-to-self-care would be a healthy-vitamin aromatherapy cigarette! I have time to smoke, definitely. It's easy as breathing, you just have to have two free fingers. Some people dangle it and don't even use a hand, like Clint Eastwood, and they let the ashes fall here and there, charming little specks of dust. I could smoke and brush my teeth at the same time; I could read, clean my bureau, drive children anywhere. I'm not sure about flossing, but I could sacrifice. My Whole-Body Cigarettes would increase lung power, lower cholesterol, and do the dishes at the same time. Okay, that might be a bit much to ask. Back to reality: the second-hand aroma would relax my children with the scents of chamomile and orange, and magically increase my body's ability to maintain vigor on 5 hours of sleep per night. I'll use the extra time to take a walk, a run, go to yoga class, or meditate. Alas, since society is not ready for many of my ideas (just wait, you'll be begging your grandchildren to light up), I am planning on yoga at 8 a.m. We'll see if I make it.