| Sunny Side Up June 23, 2004 �2004, Kathleen Gibson Too pooped to pop "You look tired," people tell me often. To which I always respond, "What? I worked for hours to get this look!" The first time I answered that way, the other person doubled up. Too tired to catch the joke, I couldn't understand why. I really had taken extra time getting ready that evening. Truly, I live through a cloak of tiredness these days. Sometimes it's funny. Take a recent example. My daughter, Amanda, and I were driving home from a weekend women's retreat. A friend and I had planned it, Amanda had provided music, and we'd all taught workshops. I'd been running on adrenaline for months due to an overseas trip followed closely by a spat of speaking engagements in and out of town. While Amanda drove, and her friend Penny read, I slept. Mostly. The others tell me I woke at least three times. When we stopped at a railroad track, I opened my eyes and shouted "Oh! Oh! Stop! Stop! Train! Train!" (I have issues with trains, trains-at age eight, one almost mowed me down, down.) Then I fell asleep again. Later I roused, saw my bare feet propped on the dash in front of me, and reportedly said, "I have such cute little toes." I vaguely remember the others giggling as I sunk down another fathom. Miles down the road I woke just as we passed a sign that read, 'Iced Caps and Fruit Slushees.' "We should stop for a drink; my treat," I said. We pulled over, bought our slushees and resumed the journey. After my last swallow, I fell asleep again. When we got home, I was exhausted right down to those 'cute little toes.' I unpacked in a sluggish trance. Had a bath, went to bed. Asleep, I dreamed a 'tired' dream, in which I was too weary to climb stairs or talk sensibly. I just sat on the floor and sobbed. Strangely, I was in my doctor's house. You know you're tired when it follows you into your dreams and deposits you on your doctor's floor. And when you wake up the next day more tired than you were the night before. As I write, I regularly fight sleep. Usually it wins, and I wake up with my arms cradling my head on the desk. I don't go out in the evenings much these days. It's too embarrassing to fall asleep mid-conversation or mid-meeting - particularly if I'm the one speaking. I'm tired of being tired. But I see you, nodding your head. You're pooped too, aren't you? It's an epidemic, tiredness. Too many of us stuff our schedules with more than we can reasonable handle. Say 'yes' too often. We eat too much (or incorrectly), exercise too little. And few pay enough attention to the revitalization of the spirit. "Be still, and know that I am God," I keep hearing. Well, I'm ready. But first, a little business matter: Sorry, Emily, but I have to refuse that assignment. I'm busy being still. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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