Photo: I am running out of inspired moments, but I’m pretty proud of this one. I needed to go to HMart for bulgogi, and was like, “don’t we have a hotpot in the basement?” The Husband was like, “yup.” So, I got in the car with one of my favorite people, sped off to HMart yesterday morning, and came back with all the goodies. We ate and ate and ate until we were stuffed. Hotpot is the best. Hotpot at home is even better.
Note: I am very aware of all that is happening in this country. Two mass shootings in 24 hours is enough to break anyone’s heart and make anyone anxious. I’m with you, mourning, lamenting, praying, screaming, debating… but I figure you came to my little bit of internet because you need a breather. So, I’m not going to rant here today. But don’t think I’m not with you.
I am just about fully burnt out. I think. Maybe.
It was my intention to write alongside my students this week during my noveling camp. I have a character that I’d love to spend time on. I submitted a handful of chapters of my current work to my writing group of Saturday morning (a really, really big accomplishment that I’m feeling very proud of) and I have 3 chapters more to write before I’ve hit my goal for that project this summer… but I’ve learned that it’s not a terrible thing to indulge the muse with other stories that make themselves known. Then you’ve got a lot of great notes to work with later when it’s time to get serious. So, here I am, a week of being able to write and set a good example for my students… I sit down with my paper to get started and… crickets.
I did some research on the House of Bishops instead. I mean, it’s for the story, but still. Not as productive as I could have been.
I saw this burnout coming. It’s a long time in the making. This is our last week of camp and I’ve held it off as long as I possibly could. So you know what I did, Dear Reader?
I made the appointment for the massage.
No, I haven’t done it yet. The appointment is not until September.
For any Dear Readers who are a little confused, in the height of Rector Search crazy a few months ago, one of the members of my committee, a really wonderful and generous and holy soul, presented me with a gift: a $100 gift card to a local very fancy spa. She gave me the name of her favorite practitioner and told me I’d earned a treat and I should make an appointment. I was delighted and then overcome with anxiety. Self-consciousness crashed in on me in a major way. “Do you think they work on fat girls like me?”
She laughed and told me I wasn’t fat. But the thing is, I am fat, and I actually wanted to know.
I wrote a post about it. I got a lot of response from it. Between texts from close friends who read this, comments in the comment section, a few tweets and a handful of emails, the prevailing opinion was quite clear: What the hell is wrong with you? Get the massage!
Well, ok. I was busy. I decided to save it for September because that seemed like a natural place to put a little reward for myself for all this work. And…if I just happened to do some healthier things and trim up a little bit before I go… that wouldn’t be a bad thing…right?
Well, I didn’t magically drop 200 pounds this summer. But all this walking and teaching an stuff has certainly boosted my self-confidence and maybe tightened up a jiggly place or two. But mostly I made the appointment because I’m just so sore and stiff and in need of the care. I’ve said it many times this summer and it still remains true: it’s all catching up with me. Everything hurts. Everything hurts enough that I’m willing to be fat at the spa.
Don’t think I’m not nervous about it. I’m very, very nervous. I wish I didn’t have to do it alone, but that’s just the nature of these things (right? Right.). I’m worried about all the things I worried about before. I’m worried that it won’t work or that I have to go more than once to start to feel better (uh, just to be clear, this is an expensive thing. $175. This is going to be my first and only massage, probably!). I’m afraid I’m going to commit a faux pas (what if I fart?? I can’t imagine anything worse!). I’m afraid it will be so ridiculous or uncomfortable or awkward that I won’t make it through the whole thing… that I might not even make it to the table to begin with!
Irrational? Likely. Hopefully all will be well. I’ll have a relaxed moment. My muscles will stop screaming and rebelling. Maybe my mind will mellow enough that the burnout will subside and no blocks will form. These are my very sincere prayers. These are my sincere needs.
What are your sincere needs right now, Dear Reader? What’s one good thing you can do to meet them? What’s one brave thing you can do? Whatever it is, I hope you do it.
I see you Friday for Quiet Thoughts.