I'm making calls for democracy. I'm coordinating at a community garden. I'm my sister's caretaker on the weekends. I'm still plugging away at my writing project (I have nothing negative to say about tenacity). I'm trying to shepherd one son through his first year at a four year college. And I'm trying to keep all of the things together, even if it's down to dishes and folding laundry.
This weekend the weekly caretaker needed to come a day late. I missed my son, but it was only an extra night. Except that I had caught a little something that weekend. It passed by Monday, but then my husband ended with what seemed like a more extreme version, to the point that we went straight to the ER instead of home. It turned out that this was a good call--and that's not something you can say about every ER visit--but it took all day.
That was a lost day of work for the both of us, but there was still just as much to be done. (Okay, I didn't end up cleaning up as much as I usually like to, but that was more than made up for by the amount of time I spent searching for dishwashing gloves with my husband.) Thank the universe for my workouts, which gave me life; I reached for things like Qigong, Yoga, and Dance--things I haven't touched for a year--and it was just what I needed.
I felt good last night--until my son woke me up at 3AM. I got a little bit more sleep, but this was also a day that saw me with two meetings as well as a phone bank. I got on my mat for some Yin Yoga after the last meeting, and I realized how utterly burnt out I am. Let me tell you, there is no glory in smelling like smoke.
I met a friend yesterday--always good to see her, even if it was this week--and we came up with something of an exit strategy for one of my commitments. Yes, good. And another will be over--hopefully--on November 5. Better. I think I can make it...?
There was a time when I would have white knuckled my way through and told myself stories about my strength and fortitude. Ugh. If anyone said anything like that to me now, I would show them the door.
I can get through this, but I don't have to like it. Martyrdom is for losers (literally).
Deb in the City
