Tapped Out.

by arianne

As the summer winds down, I feel like one of those runners finishing a marathon, barely making it to the end. As you watch them finish their insanely long race, their bodies are practically convulsing as they collapse on the other side of the finish line. Sometimes they can’t even celebrate, because they aren’t just tapped out, their unconscious. Has this been the longest, most exhausting summer ever? Or is it just me? Not only am I losing the race, I feel like I’m crawling the last leg on my hands and knees, hoping just to survive.

 

We leave in a couple days (again!) for California. We’ll be beaching it in San Diego, then back to our old stomping ground, L.A. The good thing about this trip is that we’re just relaxing. No people to go see, no events we’re expected at. Finally we can sorta kinda rest and maybe get a little sleep. Maybe. I keep hearing that line from Happy Gilmore rolling around in my head, “are you too good for your home?!”.

 

I’m hoping that when our vacation is over and we return home, we attempt to get back into our routines, and we finally unpack for the first time in weeks, we can find some sense of the laid-back-easy-peasy life we so crave. I feel burned out. I don’t get out enough by myself, or with my hubs. We used to get out once a week for a date night, but now its so hard to find a sitter its almost too much work to even try.

 

I literally thirst for things like a kick boxing class or pilates, never mind a knitting get together. What kind of freak craves an exercise class? Before I had kids I used to yoga (yes, its also a verb) regularly. Now I get excited when I find out I can make it to any class at all (even jazzercise would feel luxurious).

 

Sometimes I feel like I’m really not successful at figuring out how to schedule myself or my kids effectively. I see some women who seem to be doing it all, and think, why can’t I? I wonder if I should keep trying, or just give in and accept that I won’t get to feel truly organized and pulled together until the kids are much older. Like when I’m 80. I have to admit that I hate driving around in our super cool minivan (that we love to hate and hate to love) looking like I just rolled out of bed, but some days it’s all I can do.

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