Every so often, I get tired.
Now, I know: I don’t sleep when I should, I work all the time, I don’t sleep as much as I should, I work all the time, I’ve pulled 2 all-nighters+most of the next day-ers (at least) in the last couple of months, I work all the time (what? I think my husband would say that “ALL THE TIME” bears mentioning at least 3 times here). Yes, all of that is true, and I bounce back up from it and keep going at least 90% of the time. Well, okay, I bounce not so much like super ball bounce and more like a wet slug might bounce, but I do keep going. Right up until I don’t.
When I hit a wall, I can only imagine that, if you were to be present at the moment I do, the collision would actually visible to the naked eye and that the resounding *THWACK* can be heard for at least 4 counties. I don’t mess around. I hit that wall at the same speed I do everything else in the world (that doesn’t require a decision to be made on whether or not I can throw it out): Head-on, full-out, damn-I-wish-I-had-insurance speed.
In the past, I have hit that wall with jobs, careers, school, majors, boyfriends, friendships, hobbies, television shows, games, food, music, you name it. I find it beautifully ironic that ADDers tend to be so brand loyal to many staples. I know it’s just because we don’t want to make a decision on trying something else, but it still makes for a great juxtaposition that I can be devoted to the same brand of toilet paper for the better part of 20 years, but I can’t find a way to call a friend once a month.
I am suddenly EXHAUSTED. I want to just _stop_ and then start over. I want a life, a yard, flowers, fun with my kid. I want a weekend to do nothing but read a book. I want nights spent watching movies and days spent laying in the sun. I want no one to want anything from me for just a little while, say maybe a year.
I want to grow things – flowers and food. I want to work in the soil, get disgustingly dirty and sweat a lot. I want to fish and hike and pick berries. I want to tell and be told stories from my childhood.
I want to swim, by myself, and just revel in the fact that I can be in water.
I want to pretend that I want for nothing — not because I have everything but because I don’t need anything.
I want to remember what it is like to be fun.
I want to listen to the ocean crashing, feel the wind blowing in my hair, the salt kissing my skin, the sand massaging my toes.
I want to not be afraid, to not be angry, to not feel cheated, to not resent.
I want to rest, repair, restore, replenish, renew.
I want to be me.