Monday, February 29, 2016

It's An Extra Day - Go Ahead And Lie Down

It's a leap year, and it's February 29.  The way I see it, today is an extra day.  Sure, Monday would normally exist, and I could be doing many, many things today, but, frankly, I just don't want to.  I don't want to go to coffee, I don't want to sit at a desk and punch numbers.  Actually, I don't really want to see anyone, or have a conversation.  I don't want to think about anything outside my door.

You see, last night, I spent an hour in a hot bath tub full of water, jets drowning out most of the sounds.  I went to bed with a head full, didn't sleep much, and woke up just as tumultuous.  I know back in my home town, it's a sad day.  There are teachers dear to me that are walking around in a daze, knowing there is a void today.  I know there is a class of children that will be forced to ask why their teacher isn't there, or why she won't ever be returning to make their tiny hearts sing.  My heart is sick with their sadness.  

Down the hall there is an empty room again today.  I am grateful it's not for the same reason, although it doesn't make the hurt any less raw, although my sadness feels selfish and unfounded.  That door that sits closed for two weeks at a time now seems to mirror my wholeness and makes me question my parenting, my sacrifices, my choices, and my worth ( yes, I said it). 

I am in a house where so much uncertainty reins all the time.  The government, the economy, the news stories, the lay offs, the jobs that just aren't there like they used to be.  The increase in crime and violence, the new need for protection (whatever that might be).  I am in a tornado of teenage years that beg for mercy, and a wrapped constantly in a weighted blanket of guilt in wanting this part of parenting to just be over already.  I am exhausted of tears, and fights and struggles.  I am jammed with back-talk and over confidence.  I am fighting to remember who I am while reminding someone else of who they are.  I am straining through uncertainty to see a horizon of light.  

Right here, right now, there is writing that seems to only return when there is pain.  I dislike that very much.  I can't seem to sit down and write like I used to.  It's not the same.  The joy of this all is ebbing and has stopped flowing through my soul almost entirely.  I am eager for the return of the joy.  I am, daily, forcing the return.

This morning's silent prattle inside my head implored me - for the love of yourself and all things good...just take a minute and lie down. And I have this ridiculously favorite space in my sun room, right in front of a space heater, on a yoga mat, clearly not doing yoga... where I can just lay.  And so I did.  And so I am.  I don't really want to get up.  And for a day that is just an extra, maybe for once, it can be okay if I just lie down.  On this extra day, my answer is no.  Today is mine and I don't want to. So if you ask me, no thank you.  I'll be laying on the floor waiting for some good to come through the door.  Today I am just going to lie down, count some quiet blessings and know that tomorrow will bring good things.  It's an extra day. Go lie down. You deserve it too. 

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