So, I’m sitting here at Ray’s bar at the Glendale Renaissance enjoying a pinot noir and trying to figure out how the Padres managed to drop today’s game to the Cubs 9-2. Really, it was a trouncing, to put it mildly.

Now, the important thing here is not the game, or the or the absolutely perfect baseball weather that Arizona had today.

The important thing is that I am doing something incredibly beneficial to my mental health and well being. And what always kills me is how damn hard it is for me to do things like this. Seriously, for the past two weeks that stupid voice in the back of my had has been bugging the shit out of me over this trip.

It’s silly.
It’s frivolous.
It’s irresponsible.
It’s not fair to leave your brother with a potentially sick animal. (Lily is quite fantastic, and I have photographic evidence of canine harassment on her part, and she was trying to eat Donald’s iPad this evening. Über normal.)

That voice is a total asshole. It’s not the voice of “this is a stupid or dangerous thing to do,” it is the voice of “people will judge you negatively for looking out for your own happiness.”

I need to get a lot better at telling that voice to shut the fuck up.