I have to keep saying this to myself this week. See, we sign the papers on our new duplex tomorrow. Yep. Ten days before Christmas, and I'm going to be rushing from signing the lease to get to the office Christmas party on time. I have laundry that needs folding, a kitchen that feels like a disaster (though I'm certain I've spent most of my week cleaning it), and so very much that still needs to be packed.
I've been unable to sleep all week. I lay down at night, and my mind begins to race with the list of things I need to accomplish tomorrow, and the longer list of things I failed to accomplish today. When I finally drift off, I spend the entire night locked in a dream where I am trapped somewhere (it's somewhere different every night) and have to spend my dreaming hours trying to figure out how to escape. I wake exhausted from the effort, and start my day more sleepy than when I went to bed.
Last night, it all began again. The racing thoughts. The feeling of being trapped. The near-panic of trying to do everything. The stress of moving. It all came rushing in the moment I laid my head down.
And that's when I gave in. I took a deep breath, centered myself, and began talking to God. See, I have this impossible urge to try and deal with everything myself. And it never works. I have to admit that I can't do it alone. So, laying there, in the dark, breathing deeply, I told God everything. And I asked for help.
For the first night in a week, I slept like a baby. A dream began with Miles being taken from me - the catalyst for several of my 'trapped' dreams. But I wouldn't allow myself to be trapped this time. Instead, I walked straight up to the man who had taken him, sized him up, and knocked him flat with one blow to the face. I picked up Miles and cuddled him, and slept peacefully for the rest of the night.
I will get through this week. Even if I have to punch it in the face.