I didn’t sleep last night. It would be generous to call it napping, because naps are brief and, typically, leave one feeling refreshed. I was in bed for eight hours, but found plenty of things to do other than sleep.
During one bout of tossing and turning, I realized I was crying. I became obsessed trying to recall the dream that made me teary, but knew I wasn’t asleep long enough to reach any kind of dream state. When I went to bed, I’d cried until my body wore out and then passed out. Like dry heaves after your body has expelled every ounce of food or fluid, but keeps trying to exorcise the illness, apparently I still had some emotional purging to do.
Running on no sleep at 50 is so much harder than it was in my 20s or 30s. I was grateful all day for the ways my parents modeled pulling up my socks and getting the must-haves of adulting done. I got my boys up and to school. I made it to work (early, in fact) and kept a doctor’s appointment I would’ve preferred to skip. I got groceries, paid bills and made it to the end of my day with a minimum of visible drama, but no real relief.
By evening I was on auto-pilot: laundry, dinner, dishes . . . and, out of nowhere, decided to take my vacuum apart and clean it. It wasn’t enough to remove the filters and attachments; I had three kinds of screw drivers out by the time I was done removing everything the guy on YouTube told me was removable (and maybe one or two pieces that weren’t).
I started scrubbing those pieces like company was coming. I loved seeing the water running through the hose, changing from brown to tan to (mostly) clear. Years of dog hair and scraps from craft projects, enough twine and thread to build a bird’s nest, and layers of what can only be called life, gradually gave way to my toothbrush. And here it all sits, spread out on my kitchen table to dry overnight.
My spirit feels like it’s in as many pieces as my vacuum right now. I wish there were some way I could soak it in warm water and sweet smelling soap, pat it dry and tuck it in bed for a much needed night’s rest, trusting that tomorrow I can put it all back together.
You are a gifted writer
And every piece of you, your spirit and heart, is loved. Do you know why you specifically chose the vacuum cleaner?
SarahLee, I love vacuuming, because the results are immediate and satisfying, but have been hating my vacuum for a while now, because it smelled like “dog”. I’d been pondering replacing it – it’s not that expensive and the idea of “starting fresh” was so appealing. But this was so much more satisfying 🙂
Ah, so the vacuum question is answered. I wondered if this might also be a piece of “vacuuming” (cleaning) out the parts of your life that need/needed to be swept up and out and away. I’m glad that you like vacuuming, as most housework is classified as torture in my world. I’m grateful for a clean house; I just don’t like being the one who produces those results. Regardless, I hope the responses you’ve seen thus far from your reader-supporter-fans are enough to show you that your writing is valuable, treasured, and life-giving for others. The same goes for your person and your friendship, Leah.
Beautifully and exhaustedly written. I’ve missed your blogs. I’ve missed you more. Time for girl time. After your nap. 🤗
Your writing is truly a gift. You put to words what so many of us struggle to express. Keep writing. Take a nap. Be good to you. 🦋
I’m so glad to see you writing again! We’ve all heard the story of the boy digging through a huge pile of crap and when asked why, he said I know there’s a pony in here somewhere. I think your pile of pain, sorrow,despair,etc. needs to be dug through to find the book/memoir that touches the hidden places of all of us..
I’ve missed your posts, too, and should have reached out. Your words are always so heartfelt and real. You echo what others are also experiencing. We are all rooting for you to find that joy that you so deserve!