aches and pains

It’s nearly one o’clock, and while I have eaten, I am still adorned in my pj’s and lacking a shower. My body is beginning to feel grimy and now that my little girl is down for her nap, I believe I will soon see how hot I can make the water in my tub and linger for a long soak.

If only a long soak would take away the aches and pains on the inside. I’m not sure why today I feel a smoky-kinda blue, but I do. I could list a thousand reasons that my chest is feeling tight with anxiety, but I really don’t know why since no one thing would do this to me. I feel as though I had an entire pot of fully-caffeinated coffee, but in truth it was roughly 4 cups of 1/3 caffeine, not nearly enough to make my heart beat triple time--I don’t believe coffee can be blamed for this sensation. I can find a hand full of isolated things that begin to add up, and they are things that I cannot shake, cannot hide from, cannot change. Perhaps it is the very fact that they are unchangeable by my own hand that causes me anxiety. True, I can pray, and I have prayed regarding these matters at various times, so that has not been overlooked.

How pathetic of a time to choose pettiness—upon a loved one’s death. What tragedy it is to stir up trouble and meddling opinions at a time of grieving. Yet it happens with alarming frequency in this world. Who really should care what a person’s last will states? Should not their heart be dealing with grief, and caring lovingly for the one(s) left behind? Why does this strike some as a time to subtly create more tension and concerns? Pathetic is a kind word for such actions. I begin to think that if you care so much what a person has (or has not) left you, then you must not have cared deeply enough for the person themselves. It’s not about entitlement.

I find it drastically sad that family or friends, either one, would choose to sever relationships for unfounded reasons. At least, if they believe there is one, surely they could share their thoughts in a desire to repair things; if it’s not worth sharing it certainly must not be worth severing. That alone makes me ache more than almost anything else. I would never want to have offended someone and not be given the chance to correct it.

And making new friends; something stressful for me, though impossible to explain. It’s not a bad thing, just a hard thing. Opening layers of myself is not an easy thing to do.

Add to that the small insignificant cares of the typical day—cleaning, feeding, caring, deadlines, appointments, hormones, and what-have-you—and you find a perfect recipe for anxiety. What a terrible week to not be getting enough rest.
I need to stop. I’m simply making myself more anxious in thinking through them like this. I know my listing could go and my head is so incredibly full of details and situations and names and nonsense that I wish I didn’t need a bath; I’d rather sleep to turn the thoughts off for a while. Perhaps I should, anyway.