I’m Tired
And I really can’t face the thought of working for the next 8 straight days. Every once in a while, I become exhausted at the mere thought of getting out of bed in the morning to face yet another day of the same stuff. My poor husband bears the brunt of this quasi-depression, as he takes over the household duties for which I have no energy, not to mention an utter lack of desire, to perform. No cooking dinner, no walking the dogs, just a vacant stare as I decompress at the end of the day. Don’t get me wrong; I love what I do. It’s just that sometimes, I get really tired of being pulled in 80 different directions. I flinch every time I hear the words “Can I talk to you?”. In addition to all of this, we recently invested in a little gadget that continues to tell me that I suck at being a girl, a fact of which I was already acutely aware. My mom said that one day, my body would shut down in protest over the stress, and I’m beginning to fear that fine day is closer than I thougt. I’ve always been good at dealing with whatever life throws at me as long as I’m able to put a finite time limit on it. Ah, Gentle Reader, herein lies the problem. There is no finite time limit to these things. While I’m sure this is all a culmination of all the stress in my life lately, and I know it will all blow over, I still can’t help but fantasize of a long vacation where I turn off the phone and refuse any and all communication (except, of course, the catharsis that is the blog). Thanks for allowing the rant, and perhaps I will be of a cheerier humor on the morrow.
