Overfilled Schedules and Tentacled Nightmares
I used to think of the word “busy” as being cute – domestic housewife, bustling around in an apron and brandishing a feather duster; bumblebees swarming over their honey; popular, beautiful people with full dinner party schedules; and other saccharine imagery that made being “busy” seem rather desirable.
Now, however, the word “busy” conjures up images of a beast – a green, icky beast that clings to your ankles, sucks the life out of you and emits an awful gas that makes you tired without allowing you to sleep. Maybe something like the Dementors from Harry Potter combined with the monster outside of Moria in Lord of the Rings.
Basically, being busy stinks. I can’t seem to get a thing done. I can’t seem to fight the busy-ness at all. There doesn’t seem to be anything I can give up. And even when I do manage to carve out a niche of time for myself, it isn’t all that great.
Because when you’re really, really busy, even an hour or two of free time loses its charm as you scramble to take care of things that have fallen between the cracks; and when you’ve been busy for any period of time, even a few days off are more harm than its worth because after two or three days, the utter exhaustion sets in and you head back into reality just as beaten down as before, but now drowsy on top of it. If you are fortunate enough to get a week or two of vacation time, it’s inevitable that you’ll get the flu as your body finally lets down its guard and exposes your weakened immune system to the world.
I am hoping that over time, my body and soul will adjust to it and it will be a little bit more manageable. But for now, in my naive early twenties, I am shedding my cocky my-life-is-so-tough college attitude and succumbing to the monster, completely taken in by its tentacles.