and on the 15th day, she rested…
That must make me twice as powerful as God, or maybe just half as sensible.
Whew. what a ride so far. I seem to have been running on one of two speeds since I started: either wound up or utterly crashed. And crashed is not the same thing as resting by any measure. Resting is more like leisurely putting a roof on your hut while the sun is shining. Crashing compares to tearing around throwing tarps on your stuff in a downpour.
Between the stress and the excitement my only downtime has been when I simply couldn’t function any more. And I kept trying to figure out what remedy I needed to get me going again. What food, pill, vitamin, would resolve the pain burning in my muscles and that rag-doll feeling leaving me wobbling through my life. It took me until Monday to realize what I needed was to slow the hell down. And a couple of days to detangle from the things I needed to do so I could actually R E S T.
I’ve still got a million things to do, but none of them are things I have to do Right Now (how’s that for being in the moment? Ta da!). So today I chill, maybe putter around the house (last week I was operating under the premise turning the light out in the kitchen and walking away was kinda like cleaning it). Now I’ll take some time to nurture me, nurture this space I live in. Housecleaning is an act of love. But I’m not going at it in a frenetic gotta get this place fixed kinda way, instead an easygoing tending to whatever I feel I need. A bit of stretching, a bit of napping, tidying up something I’m walking by.
So I think I’m going to go pick a few things up off the floor and set my robot vacuum to work while I flake on the couch. I bet God wishes he had one of those. He may be omnipotent, but somebody’s still got to do the tidying up.
Valerie Roney 
Sometimes I go to bed early, wake up as usual and nothing is better. But two nights ago I went to bed early, slept 9 hours. And along with seeing a friend after work, it pushed reset, in a good way.
It can be hard for me to slow down without stopping. Tonight I half cooked and went walking to look at the new green, the wet green, some wet yellow daffodils, and the brown river running high.
Hmm, housework… Valerie, has your robot vacuum ever been kidnapped?
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My friend Vince has a robot vacuum – he calls it “Bad Dog”. It has a habit of grabbing on and chewing up plants, corners of rugs, blankets, papers, and pretty much anything that is at ground level… He really has to think of all the variables involved…
So before Bad Dog is deployed, the house must be pre-cleaned, organized, and vacuum-proofed, or chaos ensues and Vince might come home to Bad Dog gnawing on something precious…
Robot vacuums seem too stressful for me.
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And don’t be afraid to ask your neighbour to drop by to fondle your fruit when you are in tears
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