Jim says sleep matters. That I need more of it. He believes in sleep. It helps you forget, and that moment when you wake up, there's a gap (a tiny space) between memory and new possibility that is inhabited by blankness. That space is smaller than it used to be, for me.
I wake up a lot—mostly to pee, but also to endlessly adjust blankets and nightgown and pillow.
I'm tired—the kind of tired that makes death look welcome. Not suicidal. I wouldn't take my life. I just wouldn't be all that upset if my life ended. It would be the end of worry and disillusionment. It would also mean rest from the endless striving to get it right.
I'm sick of writers who urge us to be hopeful or to forgive or to notice the good all around. I want to tap into that happier energy that I know is to be found, but I want it in small, safe doses—like a quiet time under a blanket wrapped up with my sweetie and no pressure of any kind to perform or help or make things better.
I like happy that comes from a good football game or a well-timed text. I'm an unbeliever in big happiness. My deconversion started a few years back. Big happiness is an illusion, like answered prayer.
Instead, my life feels more like one of those "add a bead" pearl necklaces. A little white shiny orb of happy shows up in the strand from time to time. That's it. Beautiful, surprising, predictable in feel, but infrequent. Besides, everyone hates the masterfully carved diamond rock hanging prominently between two perfectly shaped breasts. That kind of happy is for someone else; someone I would probably envy and eventually hate.
I didn't run today, or yesterday. I slept. My body is fighting a sore throat and ear infections; I am trying to take the good advice to rest. I want to run. There's freedom in it for me—a good healthy happy of endorphins and silence and body and pain. Maybe tomorrow.
For now, I'll do the next thing. My word for the year is "declutter." There are many declutterings ahead and all of them sound both promising and daunting. I've started, though—taming the physical universe that revolves around me in a swirling tide of paper, shoes, fabric scraps, book bags, too many appliances, dog smells, old toys, tatty blankets, and food wrappers.
And I want a routine that lets me sleep off the bone-weariness. Decluttering of schedule will be right behind this paring down of stuff. I'd like a happier energy, too. Please God. I don't mind if you turn me back into a believer by answering this one prayer.
"I'm tired—the kind of tired that makes death look welcome."
ReplyDeleteWow! Have you been tapping into my brain? Here is what I wrote this week to a friend:
"I appreciate the prayers. I think that life itself regularly overwhelms me. I have really been struggling. Ann has now been in a wheelchair for 5 years and is fairly stable. Even so my health has not been great - the arthritic pain in my wrists is so bad that I can hardly lift a glass of water some days. In addition my arthritic ankles keep me fairly sedentary. I see a surgeon in a few weeks about the pains in my shoulders. And don't ask me about my stomach.
On top of all this my hope of things getting better (in the flesh anyways) is nonexistent. I regularly pray that things will get better but they do not. The family and friends that we have in life are not as close as they were before Ann was disabled. We often feel excluded because her chair cannot access the places where they go. On the whole, Christian fellowship has remained fairly superficial. Our Thursday night small group stopped meeting as folks had other things to do."
Life is not easy. I was reminded of that this week when we saw Les Miz. I shared a bit on my blog today about how I resonate with Fontine's dashed dreams.
All that said I do wonder if prayer is more about letting go of my pain than I want to admit. Should my prayers look like a superficial laundry list of my needs and wants? Or should they more embody a deep trust in the One to whom I pray?
All I have is questions these days. Leaving my world of black and white is still hard. Some days I hate the color gray.
Bob, I so appreciate reading your reply here. What a gift it is. Really. I love that you read my blog. I haven't even promoted it to anyone anywhere. You are nearly a lone reader (apart from 3 other friends).
DeleteI'm sorry to hear this about Ann and how frustrating and lonely it must be for you to live that reality. And wow about your physical pain! I hope you can get some relief soon.
Thank you for being such a dear companion on this long difficult journey. You remain one of my favorites. I hope we meet some day. <3
Maybe it's the time of year. I feel the same way. Won't go into all of the details.
ReplyDeleteFleeting moments of happiness... this is what i have discovered, as well. I have been trying to be more present in my own life when Jeff and my kids are around and more and more I realize there is no continued happiness or getting along. There are laughs, there is good conversation, but there is also attitude and misunderstandings mixed in every time. For a long time, I held onto the unknown expectation that we could go out as a family of 7 or even now, of 5, and have a continuously happy time, but that just isn't the case. The fleeting moments of happiness apply to my whole life, as well, not just my time with my family. I have to consciously make an effort to find the happiness in things sometimes, otherwise I think I tend toward the negative, especially in certain situations. And, somewhere I remember you writing about prayer... maybe it was in your other post. My thoughts about prayer are this... I find it most benefiting when I am praying for others and not myself. That's it.
ReplyDelete