Semi-Permanent Vacation

I’m not in a good way today. Outside, it’s raining, and it feels like it’s been raining for days, even though it just started last night. It’s 3:40 in the afternoon, and I’m sitting at my computer with a hot cup of coffee, a fleece blanket wrapped around my shoulders and my shoes off. No, I'm not sick. For those who, like myself, follow FlyLady, having one’s shoes off in the middle of the afternoon is a red flag signaling imminent breakdown. So far, I don’t think I’m that far gone. But I’m close.

Usually when John naps, I let Ben watch a few videos and get some things done. Like, perhaps I will dust, or clean a bathroom. Maybe I will write for 20 minutes, or even just read a book. But the last four days, all I’ve been able to do is sleep.

I enjoy naps, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t understand why I’m so tired, except for the rapid decline in temperatures and daylight hours. I enjoy fall, too, but this year it’s making me want to go into hibernation.

For me, summer ended on an invigorating note. So much to look forward to with my kids! So much to write! So many scrapbook pages to catch up on! So many career opportunities on the horizon! So much to accomplish around the house! So many more 8-minute workouts to complete! Woo hoo!

Then ... this. This is my fourth week of slacking, in all areas. I have this problem with prolonged mental vacations where I find myself unable to stop vacationing and get back into the swing of things.

Part of my problem is I have so many things on my to-do list and on my mind. Ben’s scrapbook is complete up to his first birthday; I haven’t even started John’s. My house is lacking in the curtain, rug and lamp department. I have curtains up in the nursery, the bathrooms and one of the three windows in the family room. Every where else, blank. My dining room doesn't even have a shade, so peeping Toms can watch me standing by the fridge eating leftover chocolate-raspberry mousse cake.

When Ben goes to our neighbor’s house to play, our neighbor with the impeccably decorated home with the rugs and the lamps and the draperies, he doesn’t want to come home. This neighbor, and I love her, she also has the perfect perennials and the perfect seasonal decorations. She has glass-front cabinets in her kitchen artfully displaying all manner of serving ware. I can’t begin to think how I would cope if my kitchen cabinets had glass doors.

Even though we’ve lived here for six years, people still think we just moved in. At this time of year, I get that urge to hunker down and finally make my house a cozy home, complete with rugs and lamps and photographs hanging on the walls. But this time of year also brings the stark reality that Christmas will soon be here, so if I want a rug in the family room that doesn't smell like the previous owner's dog, or kitchen flooring that does not have two-foot pieces missing in a color other than mustard yellow, then Christmas will consist of oranges and a few dollar-store toys under the tree.

I’m worn down, by the election, by all the things I need to do that I have no time or money to do, from all the exercising I’m not doing and all the treats I am eating. I'm starting to yell too much. Hell, I even dreamt the other night about friends who are no longer friends and whom I miss, friends who left me feeling rejected. When I start having these “rejected by friends” dreams, I know I’m on a slippery slope toward full-on melancholy.

So in the next few days I’ve got to get my energy back and my mind refocused. Waking up to pitch blackness doesn’t help this, but I’ve got to get back on the 8-Minutes in the Morning bandwagon. I’ve got to get my blood pumping first thing, so I don’t sit around all day in a heap of mental paralysis and start to nod off at the mere glimpse of my to-do list. I’ve got to come back from vacation.