It seems to me that self-care is not an easy thing. When one is feeling poorly, a shade under the weather because of allergies, or a change in the season, One wants a good hot cup of tea. Yet in my case, despite my penchant for acquiring a cabinet full of boxed teas of all sorts, and always on the lookout for more, I find myself lacking the motivation to simply make myself a cup. How hard is it anyway, to boil water, add leaves or a bag, steep, and enjoy. But when I am feeling under the weather, I really want someone to make me a cup. This need for mothering is primal, probably childish, but in these times of covid plague, that small thing is what I want. So maybe the very act of writing something so benign, so bourgeois will make take action. Sometimes if you tell your nightmares aloud, you stop having them. If you say your story aloud, it might have less meaning to you, losing its grip, its toehold. So I will avail myself of myself, and cater to myself. Make a cup of tea, soothe my throat, lessen my ills.