Balance. The word tumbles through her mind, like shoes in a dryer, as she washes down her morning meds with cold coffee.
What am I doing? Nothing. No, I’m sitting here watching the rain, trying to sort out what to do, and wishing I could do nothing. Read all day. Stay in bed and recoup. Not that I’m sick, I’m just weary.
It had been a long week; or a really long month. Maybe longer.
Cooking to do, laundry to fold, and piles of clutter in every room. The disorder of her home a reflection of the chaos in her head.
I used to be just fine taking a day to do nothing. Now “nothing” feels like a symptom of something. I’m afraid of being lazy for the sake of it.
Apathy. Becoming apathetic was her greatest fear. Being swallowed by the deep, wide, Nothing.
At the same time she equally was afraid of becoming hyper-focused. Fixated. Compulsive.
Her chest tightened. They seem like two sides of the same coin. Two choices, all in or all out.
Where am I supposed to find the balance?