Exhaustion runs through me

so thoroughly

that I am sure my body now uses it

in place of 30% of my blood.

I can’t think.

Eating feels too strenuous

unless I can rip open a bag.

And then if I do,

what I eat is so tasteless

that I end up spitting it out

into the garbage.

Why bother making the effort to chew that crap.

 

I look haggard,

drawn,

tight.

 

My skin does not reflect exuberance

but looks more like a pond that has not been drained

properly, murky, unclear and blotchy.

 

I know that I am killing myself.

Not by over dosing on pills,

or alcohol

but by just running at this pace,

the pace of a young,,hustling widow

with kids.

 

I know it needs to stop,

or my body will stop me.

And then I will be made to rest

in a hospital

and it will be a fitful, uneasy rest

because even there

I will be making the ever changing priority list

of things that NEED to get done.

 

So as I crawl into bed, faced with

the prospect of getting

8 hours of sleep, instead of the 5 I can’t exist on

I promise myself that I will

let

the

list

lie.

 

I promise that I will stretch in the morning.

I promise that I will use the damn massage

gift certificate that was

sent to me

(anonymously)

over a year ago.

(This person took the time to send me several of them! So I better damn use them. THANK YOU whoever you are.)

 

I promise to refill the well with water by

sleeping

and eating

and doing nothing

nothing

nothing

for at least 30 minutes a day.

 

He would be proud of me for all of my promises.

He used to say

“What? Do you think you’ll finally

get everything done on your list?

You will die with a to-do list so

stop worrying about it so much.”

 

He died with his to-do list

and the biggest thing that is going

undone

is me.