The Importance of Picking Daisies

Exhaustion clings to me like a second skin and I cannot peel it off. It sticks to every inch of my being, weighing me down, demanding attention, refusing to be shed.

I am too tired to write right now. I have been tired for days. Monday has morphed into another Monday and I am yawning still.

I am too tired to think, too tired to feel much of anything except the fierce longing to sink into my bed sheets and drift into untroubled slumber.

Anxiety has slipped into my shadow and is stalking me like prey. I am spinning on the wheel of sleepless nights and inner fights and feelings of defeat. I have nothing left to give. I am bone dry.

And the question that torments me is the all-consuming why.

Why do I do this to myself?

Why do I allow worry to shape my every waking moment? Why don’t I turn off the computer, slow down the synapses, and submerge myself in bubbles? Why don’t I day-trip down a dusty road, if only for a few hours?

Why do I find it so hard to find my footing in this work-driven adult life?

I know better. I skip along the wellness trail and pick fresh daisies on the way. I preach the importance of breathing, of being, of finding balance in the customary bedlam.

And, yet, even I get caught up in the vortex. Lost in the maze with a million other losers. Because there is no victor in this game.

Just a multitude of misguided souls praying for salvation and wondering where the wonder went.

(Where did the wonder go?)

I have lost my balance. I have fallen off the tightrope. My daisies are wilting. I pick up the petals with a heart-heavy hand and pray for a good night’s sleep.

***

This week's affirmation: I breathe.