If this were actual juggling instead of metaphorical, I'd be screwed. My coordination is essentially nil.
Despite the metaphorical nature of my juggling, it is nonetheless exhausting. I want to blog many nights, but I'm either too tired to actually put my thoughts into coherent sentences or too tired even to form thoughts, period. I think back to my college days, when I lived on four hours of sleep and turbo-charged black coffee. I was miserable and depressed, but I can't help but get jealous at the old Carrie who got so much done. And then I feel lazy in comparison.
Considering I was neither mentally healthy (the OCD rituals were much of what kept me awake when I wanted to drop) nor do I really miss being that 18, 19, 20-year-old Carrie, I don't know why I haul out that old yardstick. But I do.
One of the many topics I've been working on in therapy, from the first time I ever saw a psychologist over 10 years ago now, is "being gentle with myself." Basically, it means sleeping when I'm tired, eating when I'm hungry, and so on. As much as I know that not pushing myself to write in the wee hours of the morning is a victory, I still feel insanely guilty when I do lay my head upon my pillow. As if the Forces of Lazy have somehow won a massive victory.
The years of abuse from the anorexia combined with the inexorable forces of aging have played no small role. My body simply won't let me push it that hard. It falls asleep standing up. It finds a way to sneak in a nap.
I took a power nap for about 30 minutes this afternoon, and I know I should be popping the champagne or something, but it makes me feel squeamish and guilty. Sort of like when I eat something and it's not actually meal or snacktime. My body doesn't follow a clock exactly, blah blah blah. Logically, I get it. But emotionally? It's a whole different story.
I think it comes down to one word: should. I shouldn't be hungry, I shouldn't be tired. I have these internal rules about "appropriate" times to eat and sleep. Feeling hungry or tired at "inappropriate" times really messes with my head. I do love traveling, but the experience is often jarring for the first day or two, largely because my body clock is often thrown out of whack. I do well with schedules. I can become way the hell too attached to these schedules, yes. But I also need them, probably more than most people. Free time scares the hell out of me because I have no idea what I should be doing. I've gotten okay with "me" time--reading, watching TV, crocheting, farting around in the kitchen. All of these are fine. But a block of time that I don't know what to do with? Total freak out.
So I'm blogging about how I'm so damn tired I can't seem to work up the energy to blog, and here I've written a novel. Figures.
I'm also falling asleep at the computer, so I'm going to call it a night.