The Day I Took to my Bed

I experienced a day recently, which was loaded with headache inducing stress, and I couldn’t seem to find the reserve to handle the changes that were swirling and bumping, rather aggressively, into my life.  I wanted to stop this move forward even though it was necessary.  I wanted to run, but at the same time, I wanted to stop and hide while the waves flowed over and around me leaving me still and anchored.

So I did the only thing I could do…I took to my bed.  I would have made a lovely spoiled Victorian woman, preferably a rich Victorian woman, for I fear the working class had very little time to take to their beds on a whim.

I gathered up my books, my soft well-worn throw, and my dog, and I went to bed.  And, I’ll say this very quietly due to its shock value…it wasn’t yet noon!  I speak the truth.

In hindsight, I consider my actions to be the very height of avoidance, but on that day, I truly felt it was my only recourse.

I climbed into my bed, squished my pillows around me and hunkered down deep under the covers.  The curtains remained open, just slightly, in order that I might watch the snow falling.  I listened to the heavy silence of my home as it pressed down upon me seeming to whisper: get up, get going!

I’m afraid I have a tendency to find life rather overwhelming at times, my sensitivity gauge always seeming to be set on high, the sensation being akin to having your nerves stripped bare of all protection, their ends open and raw to the elements.  I don’t enjoy being in this state, I really don’t.

There are ways to cope, I am told.  Be careful not to self medicate, I am admonished.  So I chase after the natural sedative of sleep, and it rarely fails me, however it is a rather time appropriate aid, if you catch my drift; such behaviour in the work environment would most definitely be frowned upon.  The honeycomb structure of cubeville that fills the offices of today, hold some privacy, however sleeping rarely seems to escape notice.

On this particular day, I was at home, my office days being on hold for the time being.  The clock was just slipping into the afternoon, my nose was stuffed up from, yes you guessed it…crying, my books were hugging me tight, and I was all set to stay bedridden for the day.  But, as fate would have it, and let’s face it, fate always pushes its snub little nose into everything; the ringing of the phone interrupted my full-blown misery.

As I am also genetically programmed to never ignore a ringing phone, no matter the time of day (also crying babies, dogs, kittens etc, etc), I, of course, answered the phone.

“Hello,” I snuffled.

“What’s the matter?” responded my eldest son.


“Are you…in bed?”

I felt silence was the best response, as sobbing would just be, well…awkward, to say the least.

“You can’t stay in bed all day.”

“Ssshhhhh!” I hissed, the sound reminiscent of Gollum’s voice track from The Lord of the Rings.  “Don’t let other people hear you!”

He continued talking to me, not always waiting for my blanket layered responses.

“You do have options,” he said.  “You have choices, you have some control over what you can, or will do in this situation.”

I started feeling hot under all the covers, the books and dog adding to the weight, and I began to feel, just that little, tiny bit silly.

There is wisdom and caring in youth, sometimes it’s a good idea to listen.

I believe Erma Bombeck spoke truthfully when she stated, “Worry is like a rocking chair; it gives you something to do but never gets you anywhere.”  And yet, I keep doing it.

I am back to work this week, so keep your fingers crossed for me, for apparently, sleeping will be out of the question…at least the first week or two!

**My thanks to The Graphics Fairy for the picture of my Victorian woman **

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