In the Meantime

The mornings have been calling me from my bed. Cool mists rise up over the creek from the previous night's rains as I lace up my running shoes and hurry Snips out for a quick break before I leave for my run. Little bits of wildlife, rabbits, squirrels, ducks, and geese peek out from beneath leaves heavy with raindrops and scamper or waddle out into the day.

It has been a damp and glorious spring. The many hours of daylight require acknowledgement and appreciation. It has been a long, dark winter. These long days feel almost cruel because there is no way I could appreciate them enough, or save them up in my pockets to pull out next January. They slip through my fingers like sand. Every night I watch us creep toward the longest day of the year when I begin losing time again to darkness once more. I want to be one of those people who say things like, "Winter is for storytelling, and tea, and nesting." But then I would annoy myself, and no one wants to annoy themselves. Other people are bad enough.

Instead of sitting in the sun, or rain today, I went to Summer Institute (teacher school) where there are no windows and you are really unsure if you are in a school or a prison. You certainly have no idea if it is rainy or sunny. And I wasted another day of spring.

Upon arriving home in between rain showers, infuriated at the loss of those precious hours, I picked up my knitting. My knitting might be a metaphor for my mental health right now. I have had two projects and six needles jammed in my book bag untouched for many, many weeks. As I cleaned my bag out last week I pulled the tangled mess out and set it on my desk. Later, I told myself and laid down and slept for three days. 

Ambition and anxiety coursed through my body to get the most out of this fucking summer as possible. I knew I had to face this quagmire if I was ever going to get myself back together. So, I pulled and wound and unknit until all was right in the world again. I recast on a little gnome I am making and I knit for one whole hour. And then I laid down and could not move for a few more hours.

As I lay there I kept thinking, "What is wrong with me?" 

We are not talking the laying there like I am just chillin' for a minute - we are talking I seriously cannot move. If the house were on fire and I had to move to live, I would have continued to lie there. I was in and out of sleep, complete with legs twitching and jerking awake to drift back off into a haze. 

To be clear, I am not on drugs. I am not even drinking. I am so fucking tired. I am tired in my soul. Rather than fight it, I am sitting with my fatigue. I am handing her tea and patting her gently on the knee. She will speak when she is ready. I am telling her that she does not have to fight anymore. The fight is over. The damage is done and we must carry on. I don't know how, but there is time for that. Right now we rest. We sit in the sun, we watch the rain, and we wait. In the meantime we will knit, and run, and sleep like the dead with the late spring sun shining through the raindrops on window.