Monday, September 3, 2012

Cock-eyed hairy bunghole.

It was so blissful to sleep through the night last night.  

Not because a crying baby normally jars me from a peaceful slumber; I'm nobody's mama.  Not because my cat can't figure out how to plug the power cord back into my printer so she can wake me up with the "urr-EEEEER" of her scanning out pictures of her hairy bunghole, or whatever she thinks is so goddang funny to wake me up with at 4 in the morning.

No, it was simply nice to not have to blow my nose thirty times or wake up repeatedly from my throat hurting, because that's how I got to spend the other two nights of my lovely three-day weekend.

It wasn't even a week prior I had commented on a post entitled, "Is getting sick the way you say "no?" If you can't say no, your body often starts doing it for you."  The irony doesn't escape me.  I could feel it coming, though.  And instead of taking a day off when I knew I needed it, I let the exhaustion seep into my pores until I was so thoroughly run down that my body made the decision for me.  Time off got turned into misery, followed by recovery.  Yaaay, life.  

The thing is, there was nothing uniquely taxing about the past month.  No 5-alarm crisis at work, no mountain of tasks taunting me at home.  The string of seven dentist appointments and mention of the word "root canal" on my uninsured teeth?  Sure, that was a *tad* stressful.  Helping my mom move the past three weekends?  Not my usual downtime for relaxation.  

But truly?  It doesn't take much more than the normal day-to-day shit of life to wear me down.  Cleaning the bathroom and buying groceries and running mundane errands: this is the crap that does me in.  

The required pace of life + my introverted personality = disaster.

I'm not sure I get a choice in the matter, but unfortunately the mad rush of our society just isn't working for me.  There are people that thrive on constant action - and interaction - but I'm not one of them.  I figured out a long time ago that I was an introvert; unfortunately, that didn't include figuring out how to manage my own needs.

I'm starting to notice that, if I don't have at least one day a week where I don't have to go anywhere, do anything, or see anybody, I just can't function.  Well...to be correct, I DO function, but in a far bitchier manner in which I resent all the time I should be unplugging from the demands of life.  (This is another reason to be thankful I don't have children, because I would never get a break.)

I used to read Gone With the Wind and fantasize that one day I'd be out in the country with miles of green and my big wraparound porch, where I'd be lazing on my little wooden porch swing.  Is it too late to marry a farmer?  




If you'll excuse me, I have to go pretend I don't hear scratchy noises causing mi gato to stare cock-eyed at the wall for the past hour.  (Note: for the love of all things holy, do not ever do a google image search on "cock-eyed.")  I think the correct way to describe it would have been: with her head cocked to one side.  But the process of verifying that fact has left me with a horrifying visual disturbance.  

Now be quiet and don't question my title ever again.  

4 comments:

  1. I understand completely. I just want to be cocooned in my bed without any distractions - I NEED that time in order to function sometimes.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Getting sick when we do too much, take on too much, or hold on to too much - is this our bodies way of telling us to say "No". I think it is less pleasant than that - it is our bodies way of saying "F&%$ You - I am not putting up with this S&$% anymore. If you aren't going to take care of me, I damn well will". :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yep! The things we put our bodies through sometimes...no wonder they revolt!

      Delete