Rest Stop

There may or may not have been the presence of tears one day earlier this week. I may or may not have thrown myself a pity party. I may or may not still be fighting said pity party.

Ordinarily, I would be very excited about this week. Why is that, you ask? Because fall started Monday. One day, it was 90 degrees. The next, 60. Oh, happy day. Except that I associate cold weather with gloomy days now. I’m becoming my father with his penchant for SADS. I still love fall clothes, though. If only I could afford to buy some.

I’m very excited about this weekend. I have no plans. No. Plans. I cannot express how happy this makes me. By and large, I’m going to sit around in my pajamas and try to sleep as much as possible, and do as little as possible. I pulled out my calendar the other day, looking back trying to remember a weekend where I didn’t have an obligation. I’m pretty sure it was back in April. Back when I was praying for the sight of a friendly face. Back then, I had spent probably 6 to eight weeks without seeing a familiar friend or family member. I was sending out petitions and gilded invitations and promises of baked goods to get people to come visit me. And they came!! Secretly, I never believed they would. But they came, and it was wonderful. And I love them. And in between people coming to see me, I’ve been going to see them, and taking a bar exam, and generally busying myself with life activities.

I’m over it. I declare a war on activities. Mostly because I can’t afford them. But also because I’m tired. I wake up in the morning thinking about when I get to go to bed. And then I stay up too late. And then the cycle starts all over again. Which is probably what led me to where I may or may not have been earlier this week. Lamenting my life in general and in very specific terms. I’m sick and tired of being alone. I hate moving and starting over every couple of months. If I have to leave another table saying, “It was so nice to meet you!” I’m not sure I’m going to make it. (Don’t get me wrong – I like the people, just hate having to meet new ones all the time) Is it wrong to want to live somewhere where people know my name and don’t make me feel as though I’ll never belong anywhere because they aren’t wondering how I got so far from home? I hate how far away I am from family. I hate that I don’t get to be a part of my friends’ lives as they’re changing. I hate being adorable but never adored. I hate how melodramatic I get when I’m crying.

When I was little, I would get really worked up about really important things (like how I did NOT need a nap), and my Mom would tell me that I was getting tired and needed to rest. I resisted her claims and tried to impress upon her that I was actually, legitimately upset and I was impervious to the need to sleep. She was right. I was wrong. I need to rest. And not just sleep. I want to rest.

So this weekend, I’m turning off my phone. Actually, it rarely rings. But it sounds better if I say I’m turning it off. I’m turning off my life. I’m not really sure what that looks like. But I’ve got to rest. Like Mom always says, I’ll feel better when I’ve gotten some rest.