Wreckage

Right. So you know how I was all, "I posted in my sleep. Hardeeharhar." Yeah. It's not so funny anymore. Apparently I slip in and out of consciousness more than just at night and last week did it while driving. Going 50mph. On a highway. I ran into an oak tree. There aren't enough thank you prayers in the universe to account for the fact that my children weren't in the car with me.

The car flipped, bounced on the roof, and landed upright in a ditch on the other side of the highway. I have never in my life seen such wreckage.

I'm fine. I think. Mostly fine anyway. I sustained second degree burns from my shoulder to my breast from the seatbelt. I'm bruised and burned across my lap from the seatbelt and have some pretty nasty lacerations on my legs, but nothing too serious. I do not know how or why I am still here. I suppose I should really look into that.

Honestly, I'm just tired. So tired of everything. Life seems to be pressing from all sides and I feel suffocated. My hormones are all over the place. My kids are, well, kids. Joseph is Joseph, and life is life. All I want to do is crawl under the covers and sleep. For the rest of forever.

Which is so contradictory, because after the "wreckage" I've been positively panicked that my run was almost ended. That I was finished. That, "that", was it. I'm so careful, so paranoid, about so many things. And yet, ultimately it's so out of our control. And that is the crux of my anxiety. That at the end of the day, I really don't have all that much say in how the pendulum swings. And yet, that which I can control, I want to give to my sheets.

Enough. Enough for today. It's night and the sheets can win for now. I hope they'll win a little bit less tomorrow.