Emotional exhaustion

Marathon mind, thinking, talking, feeling, feeding, all of friday. One door closes, two more open, both calling me through to clean the rooms behind them, sort through, throw out what's not wanted, open the envelopes I've avoided, negotiate paying the bills therein.

I wanted to clean the rooms in my real house, music up loud, mind on mute. Control my environment with steaming soapy water and a damp cloth, go on to the garden that's grown so much already.

Then, plans for the weekend, physical outings. Emotions not invited. Uncontrolled sex on saturday, controlled violence on sunday. Get my house in order, get out there, get busy. Business as usual, nothing to see here. Thursday? Cross that bridge when I come to it, far more important things to do before then.

Mind clears its throat. Quietly, passive aggressively sucks the manic energy from my body, pushes me to my chair, closes my eyes, slows my heartbeat. I'm not going to have a big breakdown, mind says, but I must insist that you stop bodybusying for a while and pay me some attention. I worked really hard yesterday containing everything, can't remember the last time I had a day off actually. I'd quite like for you to take some care, do something creative maybe, but do it quietly and don't worry that the place is a bit messy.

Do that for me, mind says, and I'll help you get through next week. I'll even allow you to do one physical thing each day until judgement day if it helps. But I won't be ignored anymore.

And I understand what it means.