An hour ago, I attempted to pack my sleeping bag into its little stuff sack and ended up crawling inside it and laying on the hardwood floor. For a half hour.
Five minutes in, my husband walks in playing American Pie by Don McLean, lays on the ground next to me, and holds my hand. We mimed the entire 8 minute song but it wasn’t enough to shake me loose from my cocoon. I crawled out of the cocoon ten minutes later, fit that bag into its sack, and laid back down on the floor for another ten. Tried again, found my bed, cocooned.
I told Jon I feel like a volleyball, bouncing from one place to another with no say in where I go. He said life is kind of like that always but it doesn’t have to be so sad. I wanted to know what was the point of doing anything and he reminded me that the alternative would be to do nothing. “What kind of life would that be?” he asked. I didn’t want to hear that but it did get me out of bed.
I spent many more hours cocooned during my drinking days so this time took me by surprise. Drinking wasn’t even on my mind. My body is healing from surgery and it picked up a virus. We’re supposed to leave for Patagonia on Saturday to go backpacking and I’m struggling to walk through the kitchen. My favorite co-worker left for a better job and has been replaced by an old customer of mine who never left a proper tip. Today would be my sister-in-law’s 30th birthday and we never got to meet, thanks to addiction.
It’s one of those days where life feels really heavy and I don’t feel strong enough to carry it. If I were backpacking, I’d remember to rest when I can, share some weight with a friend, properly balance my load, stay hydrated, and focus on the views. Thanks for letting me share some weight. Now it’s time to get some rest.