It’s 7:07 AM as I sit down to write this missive. I’ve been sleeping like absolute trash lately — waking up every few hours, no clear reason. Well, there is a reason, and it’s my brain, but let’s pretend I’m clueless about this round of insomnia for now.
Technically, it’s the fourth Monday of my sabbatical. Realistically? I didn’t fully stop working until June 18th. Yep. The 18th was my first actual day of no work. I’m not proud of that, but it is what it is. Since then, I’ve been trying to sort out my life, my brain, and my house — not necessarily in that order.
Is there a correlation between the insomnia and working 18 days into my break? Probably. I’ll add that to the growing list of things to discuss with my therapist this week.
Truthfully? I’m exhausted.
The mental load of life right now is a lot. I feel untethered and I know I’m not the only one. The absolute chaos in D.C. (and the ripple effect across the globe) isn’t helping. I almost — almost — agreed with Tucker Carlson this week. MTG almost made sense. That’s where we are, folks.
Everything in my house has broken in the past few months, and the financial gut punch of home ownership is... not subtle. Being the sole income for a 70-year-old house in this economy is no joke.
(Note to self: hire someone to clean the garden that’s growing in the gutters. It’s giving Little Shop of Horrors out there.)
If you’ve read this far, come closer. I have a few things to say.
My friend Caroline said I’d probably have some ah-ha moments after the first few days of real rest. She wasn’t wrong. I need to make some immediate changes. The work/life scales are tilted so far out of balance they’ve fallen off the damn counter.
When you’re buried in work, you stop noticing things. And once you finally look up — really look — it’s a lot to process.
This move to Michigan? It wasn’t what I thought it would be. Period. End of sentence.
I thought that once the moving trucks were gone, things would feel better. Not quite.
I thought some relationships would heal, others would stay strong, and that I’d magically forge a new life.
None of that happened the way I expected.
Some things won’t change. Some people won’t show up — not in the ways I hoped.
I foolishly assumed my Texas friendships would remain the same.
They didn’t. Some are better than ever. Others are not.
There’s a phrase I hate: “If they wanted to, they would.”
It’s tossed around too casually.
But at 4:30 AM, scrolling IG (again with the insomnia), I finally believed it.
If they wanted to, they would.
But they don’t.
Cryptic? Sure.
Intentional? Absolutely.
Hurtful? Enough that I’m writing about it.
I have a mile-long list of things to do this week. A buddy flies in Thursday, and by this time next week, We (buddy, pup and me) will be road-tripping south to spend the 4th with Framily.
This hasn’t been the sabbatical I envisioned. But maybe it’s the one I needed.
Time to recalibrate. Reassess.
Because if I don’t make a few course corrections, I’ll only have myself to blame for what comes next.
So today?
I’m making the phone calls I’ve been avoiding.
Tackling my office.
Trying not to melt — because in a fun little twist, Michigan is actually hotter than Arlington, Texas right now.
Isn’t that special?
See y’all on the other side of the to-do list. I’m sitting on my couch this morning, weepy, worrying about the fact that in the past 24 hours Walter has developed a mat in each ear (probably from the swimming/sprinkler), wondering if my car is going to be ok for the road trip, and wondering if I should buy a lotto ticket. Nothing to see here folks.