pit

You know how sometimes you come home from work + fighting class and you sit down on your bed, fulling intending to get up in a few minutes and do some useful things, like maybe brush your teeth and put some dishes in the dishwasher but then suddenly an hour has passed and you are no longer sure that you are capable of getting out of bed again at all and maybe you might just fall asleep right there, sitting up, with your computer on your lap?

I've had that kind of day. Night.

Actually, every day is like that, lately. I'm not sure if it is me or the world or the season or the fact that I never can quite climb out of the hole of everything I should be doing and don't have time to get done.

I don't have any delightful little stories, because there is no time for diversion. Every minute needs to have a purpose, even if that purpose is sitting against the headboard of my bed staring blankly at the wall and trying to remember what it feels like not to have a pit of anxiety in my stomach.

It will get better, because it has to get better, because the days are getting longer, because summer is coming, because these things go in cycles, because two weeks from now I will collapse onto a plane.

It's sad when 18 hours of airplane travel seems like a beacon of restfulness in my future.