You would think that after nearly seven years, I would have managed to absorb the fact that I need to “pace” myself every day to make sure that my energy levels don’t get used up in one fell swoop. Somehow, though, the message doesn’t seem to have got through.
Take last week – a case in point. Sunday I had an unexpected pleasure, when my son got in touch to say he was coming to see me and take me out to lunch – it was Mothering Sunday. Sensibly (as I saw it) I phoned my apologies to my friend at church, with whom I was supposed to be singing, so I’d have a nice rest. So what did I do?
It wasn’t resting! I rushed round clearing, tidying and loading the dishwasher (not that my son would notice), then texted him to say that as I wasn’t going to church, why didn’t he come over earlier? Result – a lot longer with my son, but no rest.
Which wouldn’t have been quite so bad – but I’d already arranged to drive over 60 miles to see my parents, because it was Mothering Sunday. So I rang them – to say I would be arriving later than I’d expected, then stayed longer when I did get there, so by the time I got home I was exhausted.
So we come to last week. I’d arranged to meet my daughter at a halfway point, about 34 miles from each of us. Because I was so tired, I was running late – texted her – she was making a special trip so I ended up driving nearly 60 miles to see her. Being so near to where my son and daughter in law live, it seemed to make sense to go the rest of the way to see my grandchildren – so I didn’t start to drive home until much later than I’d intended, a journey, which was now nearer to 70 miles than the original 34.
Halfway home I started feeling really sick, which I’ve discovered means I’m getting really, really tired. I didn’t need to do any of this extra stuff, but I forgot I can’t do it anymore.
Tomorrow – well, I’ve arranged to help out at church, then I’ve got to go shopping…………………..!
Photo Credit: Roberta Pesce