Sometimes, when I stop, letting my body and mind rest for a moment, I realize how deeply tired I very often am. If I were a runner, I'd be a distance one, able to pace consistently and keep in mind the ultimate goal, no matter the obstacles, pain and fatigue encountered along the way. I've always been like this, a goal-setter with a laser focus, and while, for the most part, I'm grateful for this quality, it has at times obscured my ability to live consciously and pleasurably in the present. Mellowing this tendency has been a large part of my personal work in recent years; learning to respect my own limits and say no has proven easier said than done, though, typically, I've given it my best "will achieve" shot. And I have made progress I'm happy to say, as evidenced by taking a sabbatical from application reading, turning down catering jobs I'd like to do but really can't fit in my schedule, not volunteering at every school function that needs parental involvement. These decisions aren't ones I've made lightly but they are ones I've conjured a great deal of relief from afterwards.
This past week has been one of limit disrespect, and as such, when my in-laws invited the boys over this afternoon to help decorate their Christmas tree, I said YES despite the fact that we'd had a busy day and their bedtime tonight will be later than usual, potentially making tomorrow afternoon a challenging one as it wears on. But I'm learning to take these opportunities for space when they arise, and presently, I'm feeling very grateful for this couple of hours.
T is completely horizontal on the couch, sipping a beer, enjoying some football, while I sit in the living room, watching a fire try to roar in our fireplace, shrugging as Percy moves back and forth between us, never quite sure which might be most comfortable. He's really a grass-is-always-greener kind of dog. And I'm not sure a smart one at that being that T pretty much completely dislikes him and he's not picked up on it. But anyway.
As I tap away, happily surrounded by Christmas decorations, an open cookbook and this morning's paper, I feel fatigue oozing from marrow out. Reaching for my mug of tea seems both desired and Herculean which is why it's now wanna-be tepid. Fortunately, T took me up on the offer I made sound somewhat exciting -see how the new deveiner performs!- and the shrimp sit at the ready, waiting to be used in some marvelous way befitting their status of kingly-tasting crustaceans. Hugh Acheson's lobster pie recipe calls to be adapted; as if theoretical inspiration has struck, my mind is already there but my physical self lags lazily.
The fire seems to be tired now, the kids will be home soon. Five more minutes and then I'll hop to it.