I'm tired. I'm so tired I could weep and weep endlessly for days and days until there is no more weeping to be had. I don't even care if that doesn't make sense, which it doesn't. I feel like I could fill an ocean, drain it, and fill it again. Don't come undone, my environmentalist followers. The ocean is filled with salt water, which is similar to tears. Minus the fish. Let's stay focused, here.
But do you ever stop living long enough to wonder what your next thought will be? Do you ever float just far enough outside of yourself to see and hear what you are saying to the person next to you in a whole different context than the one your mind is creating the words in?
I am tired because I put too much pressure on myself to solve my boys' issues. (Hello, God, are you there? It's me, the person trying to inch you out of your position here at the company. Again.)
I am tired because I do not do well letting the pieces fall where they may.
I am tired because I have too many plans and not nearly enough . . . anything.
158 ideas + (-420 hours of time to accomplish personal goals) x little confidence = You probably oughta hang it up.
the square root of ain't-ever-gonna-happen
I am tired because I feel lost in the shuffle every day of my life.
I am tired because it is draining hearing about the stellar parenting accomplishments of people close to me (which is not their fault).
I am tired because the feeling of epic failure weighs more than the Aquanet bangs I had in high school.
I am tired because I virtually lose my mind daily trying to find and tap into whatever it is that God placed within me that holds the key to me being able to do anything I try effectively.
I am tired and I just want to sleep through it all.
But then I would miss the snuggles. And the hugs. And the laughter that is so deep it hurts. I would miss the joy I feel when I look at the hold God has on the hearts of all four of my men. I would miss the moments when my youngest son's blue eyes look so deeply into mine, that it feels like nothing could ever separate us. I would miss my middle son's caring touch and soft words of wisdom beyond his years when he sees that I'm not feeling quite right. I would miss seeing my oldest son grow more and more from the tiny boy I once held in my arms to the man God has in store for him to be.
I would miss every single, tiny moment that marrying my best friend continues to bring me after over 20 years.
These things - these beautiful, God-given moments in time - I am willing to endure the rest for.
Please remind me of this tomorrow. And every day after that until I die or snap so far from reality that it won't matter anyway.
Illustration by Ivan Bachev.
