Who gives a care, you guys? I barely have any cares to give. Not a one care to give at all sometimes.
This, coming from a person who generally has an abundance of cares to give about a great many things. One thing I can usually count on is that I am always giving a care about at least one thing or another.
This post is really about balance, you guys. Because what is happening here is that I am coming out of functioning for a prolonged period of time with a deficit of physical and emotional reserves. I was, for a prolonged period of time, tired and still having to function at an exhaustive pace. This type of thing has happened before, sure, but it happened in a new way. A new, tired way.
Here's what it was, as succinctly as I can possibly put it:
My father moved in with us for the "summer". My summer lasted a loooong time. In September he moved "out" but was still frequently around for two more months, showing up to drive me around, do yard work, and procure fast food. My father is many things, and deserves about a million of his own blog posts, but how he pertains to this particular subject of my being tired is that he is is a person who needs constant communication and interaction. Constant. From the moment he appears until he's texting me a to-do list from bed, it is an incessant stream of conversation, questions, planning, and a running commentary of every single thing he sees. ("Hey! Look at that guy! He's a guy in a hat! Did you remember to take your vitamin? Am I turning left here? Look! A dog! Fido McDoggerstein! Hoooooowwwwlll!") It is one of his most endearing qualities but it is also exhausting. As he is my father and I love him greatly, our summer partnership was something I experienced with patience (mostly) and joy, but it was also demanding of my time and energy.
The Giraffe took a job working on the campaign. You know, THE campaign. Necessary career move. Totally understandable. He had to do it. It started when my father moved in. Good timing, bro! He went from working 10 hour days 6 days a week, to 12 hour days 7 days a week, and finally 15 hours a day every single day. Non negotiable. What I'm saying is he was UNAVAILABLE. Physically. Emotionally. We literally only saw each other a couple of hours a night on Saturdays and Sundays during which times we talked about the stress of his job and the bills dogs etc. And we texted. Not only did I have to take charge of our previously shared responsibilities, I also had to be available to him as he truly needed support. All of my needs had to either be met by me or get quietly tucked aside until some time in November. A learning experience, a time for growth, a pretty raw deal. Who knew I could come home from work at 3 in the morning and pack a lunch for someone I love? Not me! But I did it.
I work full time. That means an average of 40 hours a week, occasionally more, rarely less. I work at night. I do love my job. Also, conveniently, working at night opens up the days in my schedule to do my career. Career. Job. Two different things. I do my career approximately 20 hours a week. The point is for it to be more. On good weeks it IS more, but that also means I am working and not doing something else like sleeping. My career is non negotiable. All the things in my life are structured to support my career. So I do not say "no" to the career. Also, in my industry, if you say "no" nobody waits for you to become available, they simply move on to the next person. It behooves you, in my industry, to be available at all times. Which I try my best to do, but which also means I often never have a free day or any time for myself. So. To recap. I am working 60+ hours a week with a constantly changing schedule.
I don't drive. It's a thing I'm working on, but I currently don't do it. Taking the bus to anywhere I want to go is a half hour minimum, usually an hour plus. Which really eats up time in the day.
On top of that I am attempting to have a creative life and seriously trying to gather the courage to make a little hip hop music. It's important to me. It's a thing that keeps me up at night. It's a thing I have to do. (I know it will be hilarious but let's have a laugh about it later).
With what time is left over I invest in friend and family relationships, "me" time, eat, sleep, and pay bills.
SO. TO RECAP. My "summer" (June - November two weeks ago) was a confetti whirlwind hellstorm sleepless excited electric hectic exhaustive marathon. And. Dare I say it. There was nothing I could do about it. Yep. Not in my power to change it. BUT. And here's the grand wizardry of convenient timing in the whole thing--most of it was going to change at the same damn time. November, month of relaxing changes.
November. My father goes back to Arizona. The election happens and the Giraffe's job is over and he comes back to real life. My job situation changes and I get two weeks off before gearing up to open a new restaurant. November was the ultimate turning point and the future-space wherein I could imagine lots of sleep, good food, emotionally rebuilding, watching tons of shitty tv; "regaining my strength" if you will.
So here I am, and all of the things I have just told you about have changed, and I am living in the middle of the free-time-vacation-zone, and do I feel rested and rejuvenated and relaxed? FUCK NO. I feel not good. I feel stressed. I still feel hollowed out. I have almost zero cares to give about anything. It's been a week and a half and I have been sick the entire time. Also my acid reflux has been off the charts. Also I've had bizarre health issues I've never had before, presumably "brought on by stress and exhaustion". I have not been having a vacation. I've been having a stressed out time.
So the last few days I've been like "what the what?". How am I so shitty feeling when I am supposed to be relaxing and feeling better? (then I do the thing where I stress out about being stressed out which solves nothing.) What I thought would happen is that I would sleep for a couple of days and then bounce back and have a great fucking vacation. Major disappointment delivered by real life.
Because I now know what's happening. I get it now, and I'm finally starting to feel better. Because here's the trick. Here's where that word "balance" comes drifting into the dialogue. I was speeding down the highway with bald tires for so long, with no pit stops, that my car is broken. It's not "out of gas", it's fucking broken. I hit my limit a couple months back and kept barreling onward and completely tapped out my physical and emotional reserves. And then I kept going a little more. Which is awesome, great, I did a thing that was very hard to do. But, see, a human is not supposed to do that. That way of functioning is not a long term strategy for success or survival. What I thought was that since I'm pretty decent at practicing self-care and I know I must be resilient to achieve my shit I might as well keep going and it would probably work out. Nope. Did not work out. Ask my stomach. My stomach is pissed right now. I fed that thing french fries and soda for so long it is in a huge fight with me now. I didn't die or have a breakdown or collapse or any of that shit but what did happen was that I wore myself out so badly it is literally taking me weeks to get back to normal. What the hell kind of way is that to thrive? It's not, is the point.
So, balance, you guys. I am sincerely considering it's importance. If I want to survive I have to practice self care and sleep and drink water. But if I want to thrive I have to practice balance, too. Balance breeds endurance. And if I'm going to do this thing I need endurance.
This thing is a marathon.
I know I have to train for the marathon.
And eat well and go on vacations and say no and have at least one day off a week and watch crappy shows and schedule appropriately and stretch and check in and make sure I'm supporting myself as much as I'm supporting others and not ever work more than 50 hours a week. It's a start.
It may take a little time, but with patience for balance I am hoping to be giving many cares about tons of things in no time.
Growing up is a lifestyle.
