Easy like Sunday – That little voice

I’ve talked about this before. I’ve also talked about this before. If you don’t feel like checking out the links, I’ll tell you that the first “this” is intuition and the other “this” is money.

It seems that every so often, I need a refresher.

I often find that little voice trying to get my attention in my journal. Like today. Here’s what happened… well, as often happens, it requires a story. Settle in.

Once upon a time… two weeks ago… I went on holiday to visit my family in sunny California.

While there, I had a fantastic time but my four-year-old grandson had a wicked cold. I didn’t get it, thankfully, because the year before I caught his cold and spent half the holiday wearing a hoodie and taking NyQuil.

The year before was over 100 degrees the whole time I was there and I got a horrible eye infection that blurred my vision for days. Sweaty eyes don’t help. You say eyes don’t sweat? I defy you to prove otherwise. My eyes were a stinging mess.

The year before was chilly, so we hung out in the whirlpool, heated to a balmy 90 degrees or so. Who knew that hypertension and whirlpools were enemies? Not me. Seriously, it’s dangerous. What was I thinking? Did I mention it is a warm, bubbly whirlpool? I mean, C’mon!

You get the picture. Even though it’s my native land, it hasn’t been native to me for nearly two decades… and yeah, different everything, including what my body can tolerate. Obviously.

So, this time… I had a fantabulous flight back to Canada and two days later, I coughed. Little cough. Think Southern Belle… a wee, tiny cough. Cute, even.

Two days later, I was hacking, hocking, or spewing a sticky, disgusting substance – every color of the rainbow – out of every orifice above the neck. I kid-you-not!

That was two weeks ago. Colds typically last 7-10 days. Or there-abouts. I’m in the “there-abouts” days now. I blame the airline. Just sayin’.

I’ve been tired. Not “mono” tired but “don’t want to get out of bed in the morning” tired. Then, I stay up too late at night, which sets me up to be tired the next morning. You understand, I’m sure, especially if you’ve ever been a teenager. It kinda reminds me of those days.

When I finally got up “for good” this afternoon – and yes, you read that right – I went to my sitting room (our second bedroom) and sat down with my journal. I began to write.

I wrote about two dreams I had… and some concerns I have about my parents and my closest lifelong friend and my adult children… and a financial issue we’re facing that has become a festering boil spewing its own brand of poison … and my eyes, that are so dry, they’re blurring… and maybe I have a tumor or I’m dying… except I was just at the optometrist and she said I’m not… at least, not from blurring. Thank you health anxiety. And then, this stupid cold, which has been getting better every day but lingers, lingers, lingers…

It was kinda stream-of-consciousness writing… just blah, blah, blahing… and then… there it was:

I am SO tired of this!

But I didn’t notice it at first. I kept writing. I said this and that. And that and this.

And then I saw it.


So tired of this.

So tired.

Thanks, little voice. Now, what do I do?

I can’t do much. Except keep moving forward. Keep doing what’s right even when others do not. Let my concerns about my peeps play out how they will. I can only do what I can … especially from far away.

That little voice hasn’t led me wrong yet. It’s telling me the whole thing is making me tired. Okay then… I will listen. I will get up at 7:15 tomorrow and go to work and if I get tired at 8:30, I will go to bed and sleep instead of forcing myself to sit up, where I will (of course) fall asleep anyway.

My husband will thank me… our bedroom is upstairs. I’m way too heavy to carry!

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 )

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.