D is on a perpetual high, living in this sunny climate, learning a new place and a new job. He is joyous. I am not. I am still struggling with the exhaustion that hit me in 2010, not to mention the long-established sleep disorder (diagnosed in 2008.) Three years of intense change (new job, layoff, unemployment, remodel, downsize, rental woes, new job, new home, new state, increased rental woes) have not helped. While I recognize that my life is full of potential and actual joys, I still find myself curled up in a mental fetal position, exhausted and looking for a cave.
Yesterday I worked a long day, and I am going in late this morning to make up for it. My plan was to sleep until D left for his work, and then get up and do some yoga in homage to AB and BW, who were my one-time Friday morning yoga group. I then planned to write my morning pages, take care of some business and write this blog, and maybe read a little.
It doesn't work that way, when living in a 2-bedroom apartment with an ADD husband who is high on life. D got up at some ungodly hour, as is his wont. In his version of a tiptoe, he went into the living room, shutting the door with his version of quiet care. Being a clod-hopping 6'4" boy-man, he does not do quiet, but he does try.
I lay curled around my pillow, turned from the doors and lights, listening to music from the computer in the next room, listening to D come into the bedroom, and go out, come back in to take a shower, and go out, come back in to tell me I'm beautiful, and go out, come back in for no known reason, and go out. And of course I was listening to my thoughts (Portland rental problems, financial problems, plans for work, plans for an editing job, plans to join an orchestra.) Around 7 am I decided to get up and start my day.
He came in twice during my shower to give me a kiss and tell me he loves me.
I went into the 2nd bedroom to dress and decided to plug in the CD player and do some tai chi chuh. I heard his voice from the living room, calling my name with increasing insistency. I went out, listened to his news, told him I was going to spend some time on personal stuff, and went back to the meditation practice. He came in, went out, came back in with some coffee, went out, came back in, went out. I managed 30 minutes of practice, bowed towards Portland, and said "Namaste" to my absent friends and to the universe.
I sat in the 2nd bedroom, curled up on the day bed reading the paper and consuming my coffee and toast. He came in to accuse me of stealing his paper, and then danced to the music in an elephantine version of John Travolta staying alive. Then he stood in front of the couch, smiling at me until I told him to join me.
Breakfast finished, I took advantage of the free computer and started taking care of business. He needed the laptop. So I took the iPad and began working on that. He needed the iPad. I said, let me finish this message. "Who are you writing to?" "The Albuquerque Philharmonic." "Great, I support that."
And just when does he expect me to find the quiet space and time to practice violin?
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