Running on Empty

I’m sure many of you will point your finger at the candy corn as the culprit, but let me just say – it isn’t the fault of the candy corn.

I’ve finally reached exhaustion. Staying up too late to fit everything in – from the boys and work to freelance projects and running – has resulted in a woman who wants to nap on the steering wheel while driving home. I’m done. Overcooked. Flat dab worn out. I’m almost to tired to finish this sentence.

Many times folks ask me, “How do you do it all?” And the honest answer is that I throw myself the wolves. I just keep going, just keep swimming, just keep forcing the worries aside so I can keep a clear head in order to fulfill all my obligations and a modest amount of things I actually want to do. Eventually I reach Burn Out and I can say with certainty that it’s coming.

One thing I miss terribly is training for a race. It was my plan earlier in the year to run a half marathon in Philadelphia this month, but then everything got jumbled and many of my plans are on hold or dropped altogether.  I miss adhering to a training schedule, I miss going to expos and I really miss crossing finish lines. Runners will understand when I say that I run more for my brain than I do for my body.

The book is coming along nicely, though it’s going to take more brain power than I’ve been allotting lately, and that means saying no to other freelance projects through work. It also means managing my time more efficiently and making sure the boys aren’t sacrificed in the process.

Believe it or not, I’m still crying a little over Hank. Isn’t that ridiculous? Last night after reading for a while, I set my alarm and laid in bed reflecting. It would be at that moment that Hank would’ve gotten up from his dog bed, circled the spot four times and resettled in the exact position he was in previously. He would’ve breathed out an exhaustive moan and fallen asleep, and I would’ve told him audibly, “Love you, Hank,” as if English was his primary language.

So then I start crying. Really crying. I just can’t believe he’s gone, and even though I’ve fully processed our decision as responsible, I still very much miss my dog.

Tonight I’m not running, working or doing anything that requires thought. Instead, at the close of this entry, I’m going to read to the boys and say goodnight. Then I shall pour myself a glass of wine, find a spot on the couch and not move until it’s time for bed.

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