I went to bed last night tired. I thought for sure I'd fall right to sleep. I'd spent the day at Panera, writing my heart out and I was exhausted.
But then it started. Giddy-up brain. Like a pack of wild boars, the thoughts run through my head without permission, tumbling over one another like clothes in a dryer.
I'm helpless to stop them and helpless to fall asleep.
*Random photos that have nothing to do with this post will accompany my words throughout. For your viewing...uh...pleasure.*
It starts with a simple thought. Something like I can't forget to call the banker tomorrow.
And then this happens.
I can't forget to call the banker tomorrow...and oh shoot. I don't know where I put the W-2's from 2009. I hope I can dig them out of whatever box they're in. I really need to start putting stuff like that in a safe place so I can always find them. Like birth certficates. Ethan needs that for baseball. Can I even get that in time? And why do they need a birth certificate for a seven-year-old to play baseball? And I can't believe he starts baseball next week--two nights a week could be tricky with all these deadlines. And the moving. And the packing. And the...
Then the left side of my brain pipes in with: You really need to get to sleep. All the coffee in the world isn't going to help you if you only get four hours of sleep. Calm down. Go to that quiet place. Imagine yourself in the resevoir. You're on a boat. The sun is shining. Do you feel the sun on your face? It's warm. The water's peaceful.
(Ok, this photo does have something to do with the words. This is what I'm picturing...)
Then Adam stirs and I struggle to get a deep breath.
Am I keeping him awake? Does he hear all the thoughts in my head?
He snores.
Guess not.
Ok, back to my quiet place. Calmness. Happiness. Peacefulness.
This lasts for maybe 45 seconds of blissful floating down the resevoir in my mind. Then I'm back at it.
I forgot to change the clothes from the washer to the dryer. Shoot. Now they're going to stink. (Sometimes I get up and do this) I should've made the kids' lunches tonight--now we're going to be rushed in the morning. I hate being rushed in the morning. And if I don't hurry up and fall asleep, I'm going to end up oversleeping.
Then I start imagining my cup of coffee. It's good and creamy and warm and I almost can't wait for morning.
If I'm going to be awake anyway, I should probably brainstorm my book. I have so much to fix. I wish I could get it right the first time. I wonder if this means I'm really a crummy writer. So, if I have Campbell come back to Sweethaven, should I...? You know, maybe it's not good that I let Sam imagine Mario so vividly. He calls me Peach. Is his brain going to split into two personalities? That happened on that episode of Criminal Minds...
Then, inevitably, I hear a noise in the house. Usually it's The Hobbit banging into the wall with his head. He gets so turned around when he sleeps. So I lay still for a minute and listen. My mind comes along for the ride.
What if there's someone up there? Or maybe there's someone in the garage? What if someone tries to get in the house? I really need to sleep with my cell phone under my pillow. Should I wake Adam? Or just get up? I'll just get up. I'm sure it's nothing.
At this point I feel like a character in a horror movie--the one that the audience shakes their head at, saying something like "What's wrong with you, you idiot? Don't GO IN THERE!" But I creep upstairs to find all three kids are safe, sound and dreaming about Legos, Mario & Luigi and Justin Bieber.
Phew.
I wish I could tell you I had some grand point to this blog post, but I really don't. It's an observation about the way my mind works and I'm not sure how to stop it. But I do know this...while some of my thoughts are reminders to myself of things I need to do in the morning, others are me chastising myself for not doing something on time or the right way. Other thoughts would be classified as WORRY.
And those are the thoughts I want to do away with.
I worry Way. Too. Much. Don't tell Adam I'm admitting that. He tells me that all the time and we don't want him thinking he's right.
I did this layout for my first book and the sentiment sticks with me.
Worry is faith in the enemy.
Isn't it? Isn't this my way of trying to manage all I have to do, trying to work it all out...and not trusting God to step in when we need him to?
This is about 8% of what I think about lying in bed at night. About 8% of my worries. There are so many more things that crawl into my mind when I'm not paying attention and I'm working on putting up roadblocks to make it more difficult for that to happen.
...No one says it's going to be easy, of course.
But it's necessary I think. Necessary to cast all my cares...
Because he DOES care for me. And for you. And he proves it (like he needs to) every single day.
A question. What do you worry about? What keeps you up at night? How do you handle those pesky situations you really cannot do anything about...but they still worry you anyway? And really, should I stop letting Sam be "Mario"? (He wears his socks on his hands to help with the fantasy.)
