I slept and slept and slept. Terry got home from work around 5 last night, and I held on until 6. Dinner was cooked, I tried to make sure all those evening chores were done…and went to bed. And slept, and slept…until 7 this morning. Not without some weird dreams…in one, I had decided to go to a plastic surgeon and get my boobs perked up…not enlarged, just lifted or something, y’know, like they were when I was 20 and could go braless, but for some reason I’d grown a third boob in between the normal 2, and the doctor said “we’ll need to do something about that…a custom bra, perhaps.” I woke up from that…not really distressed but certainly puzzled. It wasn’t even a pretty boob.
When I get really, really tired, things that bother me seem to grow and fester. Stuff normally I could ignore becomes such an elephant in the room I have to do something about it. I am not even sure which is the cause and which is the effect. Do I get tired because something is heavy on my mind and I don’t sleep? Or does something keep me from sleeping and I get tired so things are heavier than normal?
Which usually means talking to someone. Which is hard. Marshalls don’t talk. Terry pointed out to me that I was not a Marshall anymore. Ok, so I talked. and talked and talked. It was exhausting and emotional but he did not run away screaming because he realized what a huge sack of baggage I was…he let me talk, he asked questions, let me cry and talk some more and still didn’t run off screaming. I reckon that was my biggest fear…that he’d get tired of my mess. But he didn’t. I reckon the man really loves me, eh.
So now that the festering stuff has been cleared out…and anyone who’s ever had a festering wound KNOWS how much that hurts to do, and also how good it feels when it’s done…I can sleep, and rest, and even go back to church (which I have been avoiding for a couple of weeks) today and actually worship.
Maybe next time this happens I won’t be so reluctant to deal with it, now that I know I won’t die.