I spent five days in Virginia in the middle of April. It was a work trip and it was more than a little stressful. I realize that a lot of people, especially moms who never get to go anywhere would envy four nights alone in a hotel room and I confess that is a perk, but having been traveling for work for about twelve years now I am telling you it’s overrated.
Despite it being a little stressful and a lot uncomfortable, the conference room chairs were sent by Satan, the trip went well and I returned home on a Saturday night. I got up Sunday, the husband was away with a gaggle of Boy Scouts on a camping trip, and after Mass, I endeavored to put my life in order, catch up on laundry, clean the kitchen (the kids keep the house fairly clean while I’m gone but I always need to scrub the kitchen) then my daughter and I took a long ride to Queens to spend some time with an aunt of mine. She’s a lady I’m very, very fond of and my cousins had tickets to an event and didn’t want her to be alone for the four or five hours they would be gone.
We had an enjoyable visit, caught up on family stories, shared memories, and watched a couple of movies. We didn’t get home until nearly midnight and when I woke up at my normal 5:15 am to get ready for Mass, I thought I was going to die. I wasn’t sick, I was just completely exhausted. Like early days of pregnancy type of exhaustion. I dragged myself to church, I’m a lector so I needed to show up, and then dragged myself home hoping some caffeine would get me going. Sadly it did not.
I pulled myself along for the day until about 4:00 pm when I made the mistake of sitting down. I felt as if a heavy blanket of exhaustion enveloped me as I sat there on the couch and the tears just leaked out a bit. Why was I so tired? Was I sick? It was that kind of tired as if it was too much effort to move.
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