Posts Tagged ‘tired’

‎It’s been one of those weeks.

One of those weeks when there are so many things to be done that I hardly know where to start.

One of those weeks when my mind goes a million miles a minute trying to plan for everything, find time for everything, remember everything.

One of those weeks when I just know, no matter how hard I try to avoid it, things are being missed, forgotten, overlooked, and I hate that feeling.

One of those weeks when I feel like a bad mother, a bad wife, a bad friend, a bad daughter, because there aren’t enough minutes in the day and it’s often the most important things that end up getting pushed aside.

One ‎of those weeks when there is no quiet; no quiet around me and no quiet inside me. Instead there are always words and thoughts and tasks and lists and a disheartening realization that I’m not getting joy out of any of it.

One of those weeks that can bog you down and sink you deep, but I’m trying my best to fight it. I’m trying my best to find the light at the end of this tunnel, searching for a break in the craziness when things will lighten, soften, lessen.

I know it will come eventually and this, like all things, will pass. And so I wait, increasingly impatiently, for the break to come.

I’m ready for this week to be done. ‎

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‎The dishwasher hums.

The clothes are folded, still warm from the dryer, and I tuck the basket under my arm to carry up the stairs.

The lunches are packed, the backpacks sit by the door, the shoes are lined up on the mat.

The order forms for school pictures have been completed; boxes filled, cheques written, envelopes sealed.

The fish have been fed.

The door is locked.

The weight of the day has settled on my shoulders.

I make my way up the stairs and tiptoe into first one room and then the other.

The hair is brushed out of her eyes and a kiss placed softly on her cheek.

The radio is turned off, the blanket placed close enough for him to find it when he reaches out for it through the night, as I know he will.

I tiptoe back out, blowing each one last kiss.

The teeth are brushed, the face is washed, the lines around my eyes are examined.

The clothes are ironed and hung on the back of the door, waiting for tomorrow.

The feet are slipped under the blankets.

The alarm is set.

The glasses are put on the table where I can reach for them in the morning.

The head rests on the pillow.

A sigh escapes my lips as my hand reaches out and finds its home, wrapped in the warmth of another.

The day is done.

It will start all over again tomorrow but for right now, let’s turn out the lights and enjoy the stillness, whispering in the dark.

Good night.

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It has been November for less than 12 hours but I can already feel it settling in. I can feel it in my shoulders as they stoop ever so slightly, in my face as my mouth turns down in the corners, and in my breath as it slows, tired from the very effort of inhaling and exhaling.

The November blahs have arrived. The depressing time between Halloween and Christmas when it’s too early to string the house in cheery twinkle lights and too late to pretend you’re just “sampling” the Halloween candy.

The colourful leaves that just last week looked so beautiful dotting the ground, now clump in wet piles, sticking to boots and tires, gumming up the works. They no longer look beautiful, now they just look like a mess.

The kids’ excitement at being back to school has long since worn off. I struggle to get them out of bed in the morning but can totally relate when they just want to snuggle down under the covers for a few more minutes. I wish I could pull back the blankets and climb in beside them, curling up beside their still-warm bodies and holding them close; drifting off to sleep for another hour.

It’s dark outside when I go to work. The street lights are still on, their reflection dancing off the rain drops on my windshield. If it weren’t so early I might be able to see the beauty in it. Maybe.

I go to work in the dark and come home at dusk. I sit in an office far away from any windows to the outside world. Sometimes it feels like I never see the sun. Then I realize that it feels that way because it’s true.

November has just begun and already I feel weighed down by the bulk of it. It stretches on, seemingly without end. No holidays to look forward to, no breaks from the usual routine. And in the absence of anything concrete, November becomes the month of “shoulds.”

I should get started on the Christmas shopping before things get too busy.

I should organize the closets and get rid of the old clothes.

I should give the house a good cleaning before the Christmas decorations go up in December.

I should go through the kids old toys and donate the ones they don’t play with anymore.

I should do something, anything, productive.

I should do something other than staring out the window, watching as the rain drops grow heavy on the glass and then fall, sliding down on their wayward journey to nowhere.
I should do anything other than watching the trees, now free from the weight of their leaves, bare branches swaying, waving.

I should appreciate this time, the calm before the holiday storm, because in my head I know it will be December all too soon. December, when the “shoulds” are replaced with “musts” and there is no time to contemplate the rain drops or the trees.

I should at least try; try to find the beauty in November; try to appreciate it for all it is and all it isn’t.

I will try.


I will start tomorrow.

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