Musings and Snoozes

Breathe and Accept

I keep telling everyone that I probably can’t use jet lag as an excuse for being so exhausted now, since I arrived back nearly 5 whole days ago, but what I keep forgetting is just how much the Lupus etc plays a part. Just like having a simple cold, or doing one too many things at a weekend, the after effects can stay for several days after. 

So I confess, I’m shattered. And this isn’t a request for sympathy, more a reminder to myself that it’s normal for me to feel like this. It’s expected that an 18 hour journey, plus time difference thrown in too, will knock me for six a bit. Not to mention lugging two suitcases (*cough* shopaholic *cough*). Normal people get jet lag, so it’s no surprise that 5 days later, I’m not back at my best. 

Not that that helps when I have my final essay of the year to be writing, work to catch up on, friends to see, and a pooch to look after. Oh and a husband who probably deserves more than just the flailing and mumbling in his general direction that he’s been getting this week. But maybe it would help if I let go of the guilt that goes with feeling like this. That feeling of ‘I’ve just come back from an amazing holiday, I’m all refreshed and happy, but oh dear god why do I need to sleep so much?’ If I can really focus on allowing myself to accept that this is OK, then I can almost guarantee I’ll find the tiredness improves dramatically.

So baby steps. Allowing myself to feel is one. Accepting it’s ok is another. And the biggest step of all to me today – I parked in the disabled spaces at work this morning. I *never* do that. After all, my car is so recognisable that everyone knows it’s me who’s parked there, and while I’m happy to talk about my various illnesses, admitting to the word disability and everything that comes with it is extremely hard for me. But I needed it, and that one little thing made such a difference to getting through my day. 

So I’m OK. I’m happy. I’m still refreshed. I’m just really bloody tired with it. And I still don’t want to write my essay….! 

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The Girl with the Clockwork Heart

I am sat here, munching on pretzels and Nutella, admiring my tattoo, and generally just being happy in my own skin. It’s a good feeling. One I haven’t felt for a while. They say a change is as good as a rest and it’s true. I feel just like I did when I came over here last time – like I have a renewed sense of being, as if I’m made of clockwork and someone has wound me back up again to start afresh. I love it. 

So where to start with my travels. I spent the whole of last week in New York with Max, her son and his girlfriend, and I still love the place just as much as I always have. I got thinking about why, and I came to the slightly odd conclusion that New York is an Introvert’s paradise. Bear with me here. When I think about how I go about my day in New York (the non-touristy ones, the shopping, coffee and mooching type days), what I love is that I can keep myself to myself, I can sit in a coffee shop and read book for hours just like everyone else in there, but at the same time, I can make little connections with people. More so than in England I find, although I’m well aware that the accent in a foreign country helps, but somehow I just find it so much easier to make friends here, to talk to people, to find out little thing about their lives, insights into their stories. I love it. 

So my week in New York was followed by a complete contrast, staying with a friend in Massachusetts. It was exactly what I needed after the frenetic city. I have been thoroughly spoilt, thoroughly looked after, I have made new friends, caught up with old ones, and found a whole new part of the country to fall in love with. Not to mention gained yet another new piece of beautiful artwork on my leg, so just like last year, I have a memento of my travels and a reminder of this feeling. 

And I want to remember this feeling. I need to. It’s one of such utter contentment and comfort in my own skin that I have to remember how it feels and maybe, just maybe, take it home with me. 

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