I Should Be Committed

I feel a little crazy a lot of the time. But I felt a lot crazy on Friday afternoon. I was given the afternoon off after a particularly long, busy week at work. Plans were made to take advantage of this rare, free Friday afternoon.  Keith and I were going to kick off his birthday weekend by celebrating with lunch at Ninfa's followed by a trip to the Cameron Park Zoo, something we love but rarely get to do, since they close at five. Our day was all planned and I couldn't have been more excited about it.

Until I had a complete meltdown. Sitting at the table over a half-finished, shared skillet of fajitas. Completely out of the blue with no warning. One minute we're having a gay old time. The next I'm gesticulating passionately and Keith is taking away my cutlery, just in case I get as stabby as I'm starting to sound. It all ended in sobbing tears. Big tears. Lots of tears. Not sweet, glistening tears caressing my cheeks but full on ugly-crying. And once I got started, I just couldn't stop. I couldn't have told you why I was crying, what was upsetting me- not even if you gave me three years, one thousand pens, and a resurrected Freud to help me do it. I was just tired. Exhausted. Overwhelmed.

And I sat there in the car, once Keith finally maneuvered me out to the parking lot, with oceans of tears flowing relentlessly, with my sweet husband holding my hand (and doing his best not to freak out over the fact that his wife was thoroughly and inexplicably falling apart) and all I could think was, I'm cracked! I'm crazy! I don't even know what's wrong with me! And I may never stop crying! I should be committed!

And maybe, just maybe, that's part of the problem. And part of the solution. Not that I'm truly insane, not that I belong in a rubber room (I think. I hope. Right?!?). But that I have been committed to working extremely hard, committed to my job, in perhaps an unhealthy and unbalanced way. And that maybe I should be committed to some other things.

I should be committed to getting home by 5:30 every day. And I should be committed to taking a lunch break (something I didn't do for the entire month of July, and most of August). After all, that's what I get paid for. I receive a salary based on working forty hours a week. If I keep putting in more than that on such a consistent basis, I'm only cheating myself.

I should be committed to doing more things I love, the things that refresh me and bring me life. Things like reading and writing and spending more quality time with my husband. Like being outside more and learning new things. Like working with children and volunteering my time to causes that I'm passionate about.

I should be committed to taking better care of myself. Eating well and getting more fresh air and exercise. Going to sleep at a decent hour and getting good rest. Not relying on caffeine so much to keep me running.

I should be committed to making my home beautiful, and keeping it that way. I always wish I had more time to spend around the house. Time to organize and rearrange, time to decorate and prettify. Even just time to tidy and dust a bit more often (like, you know, ever).

I'm going to start being more committed to these things. And I don't think that necessarily has to mean being less committed to my job. Just more balanced. Maybe, hopefully, a little more easy. I don't want to have any more lunch-time meltdowns. And if I don't find more time to do more of these things, to be more committed to more that is important to me, to spread myself a little more evenly over my life, then I really might end up needing that rubber room. I want to avoid that. So. I should be committed. And I'm going to need all the help I can get.