I work in government. It’s budget season, and though I am not privy to any of the dealings–as my line of duty is much different–we are all busy and all stressed out.

It’s been more than a week since I did laundry and the burgandy checkered shirt I wear right now is the last of the clean shirts I have. Being a person who would rather not rewear a shirt that hasn’t been cleaned, I’ll sooner go to Wal-Mart tonight to get another one if I can’t get laundry done tonight.

This week has been chaotic for everyone. Even the maintanence guys and security guards and people who have nothing to do with the inner process are putting in long, dedicated hours. Who knows how long it will be. I put on a pound this week and took one off. I haven’t slept well in days.


Yesterday afternoon, as the gridlock continued, I felt myself on the verge of an emotional meltdown. Not the crying fit or explosive anger and name calling kind (for I would surely be shown the door). What I felt was an overwhelming negativity. Because human decency dictates that you don’t let loose on others, where else does that anger and furstration go? The less sleep you have, the more potent it gets.

I’ve come to realize that mental energy, like physical energy, is neither created nor destroyed. It simply has to pass from one area to another. Even after a 14 hour day yesterday and a 15 hour day the one before, I could not sleep. There was adreneline rushing through my veins. Whereas I would have preferred to see myself on the peaceful beach in the warm relaxing water my imagination brings me, I was back at work, thinking about things. Thinking, thinking, thinking. I answered a friend’s email in late afternoon and found myself writing gibberish. Complaining about the lack of rest and how my feet hurt and how I hadn’t gone grocery shopping or organized my apartment and that I was tired of looking at people and wanted someone to speak with, anyone, about anything but what goes on here.

After a while, I remembered my Uncle Charlie, who spent days on end in a combat zone in World War II, including long stays in a foxhole. If he could do that, then I definately can do this. This is nothing. Still, when I tried to rest last night, I lay awake in my bed, tired, tired, tired but sleepless, sleepless, sleepless. I was frustrated. I wanted to sleep. If not sleep, then run, but my body would allow for neither. It was purgatory.

Eventually, I did pass out and when I awoke this morning it was to an alarm I had to snooze for more than an hour. I missed the morning run I’ve missed since right around the time the Governor got the heeve-ho. Still, the rest was good. I’d acknowledged to my body that it had energy it had to release and that it was alright that my body was still working overtime and that it had permission to shut down for a while and rebuild itself.

Thinking about it, I realize that a dream I had yesterday morning was the result of not telling my body it could go home so-to-speak.

In my dream my roommate who is a close friend and me were throwing snowballs here in Albany. We were launching them at each other, but the police arrested us for trying to start a riot. We were brought to a jail where we were forced to stand, stand, stand, as I have been doing a lot this last month and a half. I was tired and wanted to sit, but my jailer told me, nicely even, I had to stand until someone posted my bail. If I was convicted, I would again have to stand. The alarm woke me up. The aura of the dream carried with me all day. I was so tired and yet full of negative energy. Hopefully today will be different, but either way, it’s alright to want to shut down for a while.

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