Tits Up in a Ditch

I just finished reading Annie Proulx’s piece Tits Up in a Ditch in the most recent New Yorker.

I’m taking the weekend off, since 10:00 this morning, “to center myself and get some things done around the house,” as I put it to my boss, to my co-workers. I apologized for the short notice, but begged they would understand I “wouldn’t do it if it weren’t absolutely necessary.” And that “I would rather not say more just now.”

I went in to the office this morning at 6:45 knowing I would make this announcement. It was raining when I got up. Again. And the plans I had made yesterday for work, for workers to do the work, with the managers who direct the work, was once again in need of re-planning,  re-adjustment almost as soon as it was planned. 

(Nevermind that there are folks with far worse issues than mine where rain is concerned and that I should count my blessings we’re not in Cedar Rapids, or any other town along this neverending rainy front stretching from Canada to North Texas. I hold all positive thought I can hold in my heart for those with real loss. For us it is, at root, a mere slow-down of work. Still, I’ve made promises I can’t keep.)

I feel ashamed. I like to think I’m resilient, able to move at a moment’s notice. I’d like to think I’m not a whiner, but this Winter-into-Spring-into-Summer has taken its toll on me. I’m exhausted.

It was wonderful how the folks around me at the office this morning asked no questions after my announcement. They offered support, “Yes, I can take care of that,” and “Take the time you need,” as I sent email after email to them of the loose-ends I had not been able to handle in the past few days. I tried to release as much information as possible of the undone things I had inside me and on lists I’ve written day after day. I’m so blessed. Alan, laurie, matt, paul, charles, meri, les and kristopher, thank you all for your support. Danny, you too, don’t know where I’d be without you.

Please know I’ll be fine, I just need a break from obligations. All are real. Some self-imposed, some imagined.

R