I’ve been rushed all week; it’s partly due to having our house on the market and partly due to working double the hours at my job. Having the house up for sale means extra effort is put into keeping it clean, organized, and ready to show at a moment’s notice. Working twice the hours means that extra time must come from some other corner of my life. Like working out. Or reading.
But not sleeping. At least, not yet.
I had a facial this morning with Janet ; every time I have one with her she comments on whether I’m jelly or toast. (My words, not hers.) Jelly is better, but today I was toast: crunchy and stiff and tense. I hadn’t really thought about it until then, but I can see where the house and the extra hours on the job are changing the fabric of my daily life from a comfy quilt to a stiff tablecloth. The one suggests relaxation, the other duty.
I’ve been here before; in fact, I’ve been the tablecloth for most of my life. Given the circumstances, that experience will stand me in good stead in the coming months — as neither the house project nor the projects at work are about to abate quickly — but I intend to get back to the comfy quilt ASAP.
I see Janet again in six weeks; it will keep me aware of the situation. And, if I’m still toast, at least I hope I’m becoming a little soggy.
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