My mind is swimming in a wide range of thoughts. I propelled my body through the water for the purpose of touching the wall and turning back again. As the pool floor moves past, the thoughts move in and out. I lose track of my lap count. So much of it is a blur, and yet the feeling isn’t anything new.
I suppose that it is more self protection than anything – this numbness that I so often feel. There is so much going on behind the scenes. Sometimes, I wonder if it would be easier to just leave the curtain up and let it all be exposed. But I swore that I wouldn’t do that.
Instead of letting it all ooze out onto my blog, I have been sharing my secret life with my shrink. She enters it into her notes and, when I am least expecting it, one of my other doctors brings it up. “You have gone through so much”, they say, and they are impressed at how well I have endured.
I really don’t have any other choice. Do I?
I have really tried not to let myself get overwhelmed by the helpings of responsibility that I have loaded up on. It was all my doing, after all. Well the recent helpings were. There is a fine line between keeping busy and too busy. Tonight, I try to wash it all down with a little wine. Perhaps the wine will help me to digest it all.
Tonight, I swim for 30 minutes. I know that I should do 40 minutes, but I let myself stop short anyways. It seems a little ironic that I spent the majority of the past 24 hours with my undies in a knot about a stupid track workout. It’s just a little hypocritical. Complain about an easy track workout, and then dry off before reaching the 40 minute cross-training goal the following night.
On one hand, I am overwhelmed with managing the household, the bills, the job, the kids, and who knows what else. On the other hand, I am complaining about the workout being too short and not hard enough. It was me who needed a break from training to focus on my life’s pressures. But now, I am asking for a distraction from it all (but selective in my commitment).
And then what?
I spend my evening bouncing from activity to activity. Pick up YaYa, cook dinner, go to dog training, head to the gym to swim laps, to the store, home again, cook for tomorrow’s gathering…
Do you see what I mean? And what about little YaYa? He is passed out on this bed upstairs, dead tired from too much to do and not enough sleep.
I ask myself, what am I doing? My head is still swimming, in spite of the wine. There is no escaping the constant barrage of thoughts. Instead of downing the wine, I will pour it down the drain and head off to bed.
Tomorrow will likely bring on a whole new perspective.