In the six and a half years we’ve been together, Dallas and I have lived at five different addresses and moved basically cross-country twice (Michigan to Georgia, then Georgia to Maryland). Last year, when the lease was up on our old apartment, we moved to one closer to my current job (it cut my commute from almost an hour and a half down to under 30 minutes without making a real difference in Dallas’s commute–he just takes a different train line to work). We recently got a note from our apartment management asking us to make a decision soon about whether we’re staying or going when our lease is up in a couple months…and for the first time, we’re actually going to stay put in the same place for more than a year! When our current lease is up, we’re signing a new one, unless something wild happens and we end up needing to move out of the area before then. (Dallas has job applications out in other states, so it could happen, but it’s super unlikely.)
If you were to ask me how I’m feeling these days, and I told the truth, I would tell you that I’m tired.
There’s a heaviness in my chest where my heart should be, like it’s been replaced with a stone. It hurts to breathe, to think, to exist. I’m physically exhausted, but my brain never gets tired. There’s always something new to worry about, some fresh anxiety to keep me awake late into the night.
Sometimes self-care means not making a to-do list or, really, any other sort of plans.
It feels like every time I take a step forward these days, I end up having to take two or three steps back. Continue reading
I’ve had so many words just itching to escape through my fingertips recently, but no time to let them out. There’s always something else that is or should be more important–a chore, a deadline, work, the cat wanting attention, etc. These are all good things, yes, but now I have time to write!
At the end of 2016, I didn’t think any year could be worse than that one had been. Then 2017 showed up and, for most of the year, proved that things can almost always be worse.