T'is the Season of Temporary Burnout
T'was the month of December and all through the whole county everyone became disenchanted with the 95 miles per hour lifestyle. Until the snow happened.
What a day/ month/ year/ survival it's been. Chaos pounds on my door at 4:45. (well, to be exact, it's actually dad waking me up, but chaos is hot on his heels.) From that illegal hour til I collapse at another illegal time, so much has or hasn't happened that I feel like a battered piece of shrapnel. Driving, work, driving, shopping, driving, home, driving, youth, driving, and then finally bed leaves me reluctant to redo it all the next day. The things that haven't happened like lunch break and nap and hot cocoa also leave me reluctant to do another day without these necessities.
The assisted living facility which I almost call home had a water pipe burst, causing a bit of damage. Nothing major, only 6 inches of water on the floor and all of the residents had to hang out in the neighbors livingroom (aka, a motel lobby.) That evening they found themselves unhappily deposited in a nursing home 25 minutes away and 25 points down the ladder from our 5 star haven. The employees are likewise tended towards ill-natured mutterings concerning the extended drive and low-scale facility. We're looking at 6 months of living double, so to speak, while the pipe healers do their thing. To say work has not been pretty is like telling Georgian and Floridian folks that a hurricane is mythier than unicorns. The total amount of time I've felt like breaking down in the last few days is solely outweighed by the 30,000 people swirling around at constant intervals. I made a pledge my first morning in the new situation. I'm gonna be the cheerful, upbeat CNA who is blithely undeterred from circumstances. (Haha, bet you thought I wouldn’t hear you cackling over there.) My cheerful, upbeatedness lasted 20 seconds.
But. Wisconsin. has. snow. Let me tell you unwashed1 friends out there that singing Silent Night while flakes dance to the unhurried twilight music of December creates a feeling of unwarranted joy. Melodies from 20 larynxes fade into the distant, beautifully off-beat metronome of snow drops. And God so desired that I be a part of it.
I guess the moral of this post is if you're constructing water pipes, put your heart into it. Please. Joy is discoverable in snowflakes, but contentedness is founded in the norm of dry ceilings and floors.
a favorite phrase of author Terry Grosz.