The Day of I Don’t Wanna

WTH was with today?

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the lack of preparedness I felt for the schoolwork my son had. Maybe it was the helplessness. I don’t know, but whatever it was at every single turn of today I felt an internal tantruming brat screaming out, “I don’t wanna!”

By 2pm I had fallen asleep on the couch. I’m not kidding. I didn’t wanna.

Even now, as I put my son to bed and I stumbled out of his room wondering if I could take an hour or so to salvage something of the hours that slipped by I remembered that I didn’t even write a letter to no one today… In that moment the whisper crept back in, “I don’t wanna.” Resistance has been incredibly high today. And yet, here I sit, typing away.

How many things actually get done on the days we tell ourselves, “I did nothing”? What is it about my perception of today that blinds me to the reality of it? What is it about the feelings I had that were insurmountable in the face of every tiny success I lived?

I am tired today. I don’t know why exactly and, of course, I hope it’s not a sign that I am coming down with something. However, more importantly I hope it is not a sign that I am losing my grip on my mental wherewithal to ride this thing out. I mean, for all intents and purposes, we are just getting started here….

Here’s hoping tomorrow is full of sunshine, and gratitude, and potential, and an inner voice that is back on board and ready to step back into all the things. Here’s hoping sleep is all I need, because that’s what I am about to go get.

Goodnight my silent partner in crime and, always, thank you for reading.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.