If we were having coffee, I’d probably fall asleep before I finished even one cup.
I’m tired, Best Beloveds. Too tired to think up a metaphor that would fit perfectly right here.
I’m so very tired that I feel as if everything I ever might want to say has already been said. In fact, I can think of 5 posts I’ve written before that sum up all the thoughts I’ve had this weekend:
Rara and the Moon On Saturday, we attended a gala where my nieces and dozens of other children danced and celebrated Diwali. We told the story of the holiday and lit many candles.
Clever Titles Are For The Rested I love children, but being responsible for them for lengths of time makes my brain shatter. I have no idea how someone can grasp a metaphor in the haze of that sort of exhaustion.
She had Blue Skin The party was overwhelming for me. I can brush over the facts all I want, but the reality is I’m still not acclimated. I’m not used to being free. I am afraid, all the time– large groups, loud noises, too many options. One on one, I am okay, because I love you, and that makes all the difference.
Bloggercise! I had to do what little blogging I did do from my phone, crouched over the seat of cars and leaning over vats of colored rice. If there’s a part of my body that doesn’t hurt, I haven’t found it yet. I should have remembered to bloggercise.
The Burdens of Blog Babes My sister’s daughters didn’t want to wear the dresses that were selected for their dance. Their noodles were too long to eat, their rice was too white. They didn’t want to use the bathroom until we were on the entire opposite side of all bathrooms on earth. They only wanted to touch the things that couldn’t be touched, and they only wanted to talk below a scream when imparting important information in busy rooms. But, they took time to encourage every person on their team. They worried that their grandpa didn’t have enough food, even before they had eaten. They gave their crayons to the kids who had none, and picked up trash off the floor and threw it away without prompting. They rushed to the side of anyone they saw alone, or upset, or in need. They thanked the caterers as we left, and told them they did a good job.
Their grace reminded me of a blink of a moment where my sister worried about not being able to keep up with blogmoms who manage to do everything, and label all the different types of blocks in a playroom. It’s a silly fear given how well she’s obviously doing. It reminded me, once again, how important it is to be as authentic as possible on my blog because I’m blogging my story, and someone might have lived a similar chapter.
Faulty days are part of our story.
Our blocks don’t always go back in the box, and sometimes we don’t even have a box for the blocks anymore– but it doesn’t mean you can’t build something amazing out of them.
Today I am faulty. I am tired and if we were having coffee, I’d probably yawn and rest my head on the table, like I wasn’t raised with any manners at all. The yawning would contort my face, and the coffee would splash on my pajamas. My hair would be a mess because it always is when I feel this sleepy.
My words would be misshapen and sloppy because I was afraid all day long. My brain was besieged by the aftereffects of trauma, and they were my protectors. They were pelted and burned, stabbed and rammed– but they held their ground in fierce defense of the idea– the light will always overcome dark.
And it worked. I still believe it.
Which is why– though I look bruised by life, and though I ran out of decent words, and though I will probably end up falling asleep before finishing this cup– I’m happy to sit here and share coffee with you.
You are a shining beacon, and when I see your light–
I see a little less of the darkness and a little more of Hope.
Everything’s gonna be okay, Best Beloveds.
Do you want a refill?
Your weekend in one link: Go!