In 2022


I slept in this morning and ended up waking up late for work because I felt nauseous. Instead of getting up on time, I kept hitting snooze because trying to sleep was better than feeling queasy and like I wanted to vomit. But of course, waking up late meant I would be late to work.

Arriving at work late was no better. I did the awkward walk of shame as I crossed through the classrooms 15 minutes late. When I finally settled into my class, it was maybe 20 minutes of peace until the monsters let out their true selves. The talk around preschool lately has been that the kids in my class are monsters. All of them. Monsters in their own special way.

When it was time for my lunch break, I was between sitting on my couch and eating ice cream or going for a run. Since Mel has been expressing her concern over my half marathon training (or lack thereof), I opted for the latter. So I rushed home, ripped off my sweaty work clothes, and tugged my skin tight yoga bike shorts onto my sticky body. I did a steady 2 mile run in under 30 minutes. As soon as I got home, I peeled off the workout clothes that were stuck to my body and raced to take a shower before going back to work again.

The afternoon was just a few more hours with the monsters. Kainalu pooped. Rachel pooped. Yuwan pooped. My kids are poop monsters.

At 5 o’clock I hurried to my car. I sped out of the parking lot, down University, took a U turn through a parking lot because I didn’t want to wait for the light, and rushed over to Bar Method. Again, I changed out of sweaty work clothes and squeezed my way into Lululemons. The studio was 89 degrees and the fans did nothing. I took the first class and worked the second class. At least I could spend an hour in the lobby AC. But even as I sat at the front desk wrapping new client gifts, I looked across at the mirror and saw my heavy eyes and wild hair.

By the time classes finished and I cleaned the studio, it was dark out. I took the trash with me because I was too afraid to walk to the dumpster not knowing which homeless person would be hanging out there today. The thought of having to cook dinner exhausted me, so I stopped at McDonalds. Getting a cheap meal in an instant is great, but I don’t always feel so great afterwards.

It was 8:45 PM when I finally had a chance to stop moving. I gave myself 15 minutes before I needed to get up and get ready for bed.

My nightly routine consists of sitting on the toilet, taking a shower, doing all the skincare things, and then jumping into a clean bed. Once in bed, I pray. Then I read my devotionals. Then I go on my phone until it’s late enough that I realize I should have been asleep already.

But tonight, after I got in bed, I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I closed my eyes to pray, and my mind kept wandering off to the millions of things I needed to do. Book a hotel for mom’s stay in Frankfurt. Book a hotel for Disneyland this weekend. Do laundry. Figure out when I’ll actually have time to do laundry. Pack for California. Debate on whether I should fly standby to California or actually purchase a seat because the standby list looks full. Unpack from Maui last week. Put away the 20 pairs of panties that are sprawled on the dining table that I just bought. And the list goes on and on and on.

Today was a competition of fitting a 30 hour day in a 24 hour span, and guess who lost.

I’ll give you a hint… It’s the girl that’s extremely tired. The girl that is exhausted and hungry and sad because she’s exhausted and hungry.

It feels like there are a million things to do, and maybe if I had 2 more arms and 6 more hours in the day I could actually do it. But it’s not the list of things to do that are weighing me down. Whenever I’d get worked up like this, a friend used to tell me to just do the next thing. Don’t freak out about everything- just do one thing at a time. So, I know I’ll get the list done. I know that I’ll unpack my Maui luggage first and then I’ll put away the overflow of panties next. I can get those things done. The part that is most stressful is feeling like I’m untethered.

I’m going through all of these things in my day. Work. Exercise. Second work. More exercise. Feeding myself. And as I rush from one thing to the next to the next, I’m just flailing through it all without something to keep me grounded. Something that I can come home to and just be. Something that doesn’t take more effort from me, but instead I can be exhausted and hungry and sad, and that’s ok.

I miss being tethered.

The feeling that no matter how many wild things go on throughout my day, there is that one thing that will always remain the same. The one thing that I can call when the kids poop too much. The one thing I can rely on to help me cook dinner instead of doing it all on my own. The thing that was there when sometimes I ran around so much I, myself, didn’t feel all the way there.

Instead I’m a chicken running around with its head chopped off. I’ll save this. Publish it. Turn my computer off. Put it to the side. Go to sleep. And do it all again tomorrow.

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