While peppered with good things (friends, back-aligning hugs, baseball and the like), the past few weeks have also featured a great deal of stress. And while I’ve been attempting to work my way through the list of tasks I need (desperately) to finish, it’s been weighing down on me.
A few days ago, my body – largely as a result of all this – was refusing to cooperate when the alarm went off. So I dragged myself out of bed and prepared to start my day. At one point, I knelt on my mattress to reach something on the other side of the bed and slipped, effectively falling, arse first, onto the footboard (??) of my bedframe.
Life had officially become a pain in my ass. To the point that I was on the verge of tears – not so much over the injury (which did leave a very lovely bruise), but the fact that it was the latest in a series of stressors seemingly designed to bring me down.
Were I younger, I would have felt the urge to take that as a sign and hide under the covers for a day. Mental health break – the ultimate personal day.
But I am what I am. And instead, I just gritted my teeth, brushed my cheeks with my hand, and kept moving.
Wincing all the while.
