Yearning for Yawners

I'm a pretty boring person.  And I say that with some satisfaction.  Never a fan of drama, unless it's on a stage or big screen, I generally embrace the routines that mildly punctuate my days--waking early, exercising a bit, reading the paper, walking the dog...all before 8 a.m., if life is really good.

Yesterday, though, was not one of those days. Yesterday, I was a hot mess from the get go.

I woke from splintered sleep with a strangely sore nose and a brain that did not feel like my own.  Before 5:30 a.m., I'd managed to screw up that night's chicken shwarma recipe not once but twice.  And, while waiting for the newspaper to arrive, I made the mistake of looking at Facebook, where one person had referred to our president as the anti-christ. (Honestly, I don't think I would ever have referred to Richard Nixon as the anti-christ!).

Filled with anger and smelling of Middle-Eastern spices, I headed out on a walk, feeling wobbly and disoriented.  And, while I knew that, behind those clouds, there were five beautiful planets perfectly aligned, I never was able to let go of my disgust at the Facebook post and enjoy the longer view.

I stumbled and sputtered my way through the rest of the morning--off point and out of sorts--wondering if I'd suffered a stroke in my sleep, until I remembered that I probably hadn't slept long enough for a stroke to occur unnoticed.  And when my brother emailed me with news that my mom's medical procedure had been delayed because of someone else's knuckleheadedness?   Well, I felt a bit like that new ninth planet that was just discovered, whirring wildly in a galaxy that felt very far from home.

Convinced that not one part of my life was now within my control, I wondered if I had come face to face with a tipping point, of sorts.  Perhaps the weight of all of the losses of the past six months--my friends, my step father, and now, maybe, even my mom--had accumulated within me and burst through my pores, demanding my attention.

It's good for me to have an emotional day now and then.  It reminds me that many things are outside of my control, that losses--like plaque--build up if I don't take the time to address them.  And, inevitably, when I finally whisper "uncle" to a friend or family member, admitting that I am suffering and that boredom has been replaced by something harsher,  I am cloaked in kindness.  Made almost whole again, ready for routine to find its way back to me.