Self Preservation

The library book story started with: Mog was tired. So tired she wanted to sleep forever. And so she did. (slightly edited)

Sigh. What sweet release sleep is. An escape. An elixir.

Every day passes, and I place a fragile lid of sleep on each one. Like a delicate full stop. And I know that I can tick one more off until forever.

The feelings have slowed down. I've slowed down. I'm not thinking as much. I'm just getting through this minute, this hour, this meal, this routine. I find it hard to think about tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the weekend. Or Mother's Day. I just need to get through this space right here, please.

I feel like I'm saying "No. Sorry. I can't," all the time. "Jess, can you do this?" "No." "Would you like to arrange this?" "Sorry" "Can we count on you for this?" "I can't." And as much as I'd like to be Superwoman, I don't have the energy to put on that face. For me, it is an accomplishment that I actually get to the evening in one piece. Where did I lose the plot? When did I become not ok? Why am I not holding this simple, beautiful life together?

I'm tired. On the inside. And I'm also tired of being tired on the inside. I have nothing left really to give anyone. If you don't fall within my immediate circle of MIPs, chances are that I will not be able to see to your needs today. Tomorrow doesn't look good either. No. Sorry. I just can't.

Routine is good. It helps define the spaces of time that I float through. Go here. Do this. Go there. Do that. Equals good. Equals helpful. It offers a slightly clearer view  on things.

I'm tired of being low though. It's not nice for me. It's not nice for you either. This kind of tiredness is catchy, and I would stand back if I were you. Well back. Don't worry, I won't hold it against you. It's ok.

My demons haunt me from behind my eyebrows. Thoughts of where things went wrong pester my memory. The what-ifs and the helpless resignation that follows halve each breath I take. I'm drifting. I need my rock. My rock is crumbling. Now what? 

I'm really tired of this. I want sunlight on my face. I want bubbles and butterflies and star- anchored wishes. I want a clear mind with thoughts that march like little soldiers on parade - orderly, neatly. I want the colour back. I want morning.

They say the night is always darkest before the dawn. There are also places on the earth that don't get sunlight for months at a time. It just makes me think that I could do with a decent dose of equatorial living for a bit. Oh. And a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, please.