I've been sick, both heart-sick and the regular wear-you-down nasty bug-sick (yes, my hyphenation is somewhat random--and yes, I teach English). I won't go into all the details, but between losing Aphrodite, worrying about the ginger brothers with their UTIs, stressing over events both personal and national (reading about Newtown and the grief of so many families among other tragedies), my heart aches and I find myself physically and emotionally beaten down, ready to literally pull the covers over my head and stay snug in my bed in my darkened bedroom, hiding from reality, which can, my friends, as you well know, suck royally (I was going to say sucks ass, but, well, perhaps that was too vivid an image).
I've spent the last two weeks alternating between going out into the world and doing what I must and coming home and sleeping, not because I want to, but because my body goes into shut down mode and there is no option.
I think, though, that perhaps I am catching up on the sleep debt, and although my heart still hurts and my chest aches from coughing, that I am on the other side, that things are getting back to my normal, and order is slowly being restored.
Order being restored, though, is perhaps different than other people's order. For me, it's rumination, fixation, and the constant questioning of how we relate to ourselves, to others, how we maintain honesty and tact at the same time, and how confusing language is-how easy it is to make things mean whatever we mean. Maybe that's why naps are in order, though--that I wear myself out trying to tease the meanings of things. Take, for instance, "time is of the essence."
There's a visceral, sensed meaning where defining that idiom with words is a strain. Then there's looking it up to see where it comes from, what it means to others. Of course, I do both...the girls love idioms and trying to figure them out, so I will hit them with this one this afternoon.
Deadlines not withstanding, as the phrase refers to, time should be of the essence. To be less than profound and state the obvious, we are all on our own deadlines, so making the most of life is, should be, important.
But who knows what the most is and why has something so incredibly personal, important, essential, become hackneyed and clichéd? Okay, that's redundant, but see what I mean?
I may need to go back to bed and pull the covers back over my head and hibernate awhile longer. And maybe the cold medicine is possibly impacting my ruminations.