An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

awash in  numbness  I see life  through a  fuzzy lens  push through  fatigue  and a sense  of helplessness  that threatens  to overwhelm  my mind swim in molasses I need to plan every move to conserve energy to think and decide what what is more important but at the  end of the day I have nothing left.

When your body tells you to rest you can ignore at your own risk And it is advantageous to take a break when you have a chance instead at an awkward time that you cannot afford to lose. Learn from my mistakes don't believe that you are invincible because sooner or later fate will override your ego.

Ride the wave until it reaches the shore and it crashes in a mess of foam all its energy spent It needs to retreat  to gather its energy yet again to make another attempt to inch farther inland. The moon's pull helps it to encroach inch by inch and rise towards the sky Then it recedes back to where it came reveals the secrets that lie within their unfathomable deeps. The cycle of energy ride the surplus of ideas until it crashes against the rocks then retreat and refill your reserve to try again.

Sleep that refuge from life where body lies in repose not dead but dormant as cells repair and mind wanders in dreams. Denied overwrought nerves that fire refuses to calm not peaceful yet warlike as pain tears and mind chases in circles. Thoughts muddled waters where clarity swallowed in fog not clear but scrambled as day wears on and patience plunges in frustration.

Stare in the mirror into infinity failing body but mind is the same See every decision in stark clarity all the good ones that make you smile and the bad ones that bring tears only with the justice of hindsight do you realize that the journey you've made the paths that you chose is just a tapestry of your life. A roadmap of a trip you drove in the dark to get to the light of realization.

This balance is delicate Too much of one thing and the scales are tipped. This will make you better but there is a very slight change very very very slight that something else will go wrong. It is a challenge to manipulate the weights so you will not be crushed on one end or the other. What is one more spinning plate when there are fifty or more and you rush around trying to keep none of them from falling. The effort tires you and all compliment your skill but leave you to do it all alone.

Not quite queasy but you know that something just doesn't feel right. Head hurts just enough to be annoying but you can push through it. Am I sick or am I just tired? Or am I sick AND tired? It's hard to tell the difference anymore. What I need is a tropical paradise vacation waves along the beach where the palm trees sway. What I really need is a few days of sleep a long luxurious bath in that order.

Every week the bite of the needle hoping to stave off the pain for a little while. It's better than sitting in a chair for hours while medicine flows through your veins. It's better than losing a day in a drugged stupor where sleep doesn't give you rest and family resents the loss of a Saturday. None of it is your fault just a body that is falling apart. But it's better than being dead I suppose.

 I muse to myself that I'm in the wrong profession. I should've been a meteorologist.  Yesterday was seventy-seven degrees Today is thirty degrees cooler The thermometer is confused.  I feel the air pressure drop in my joints and in my muscles. My ring clings tighter to my finger as if pleading not to let go. It runs hot and cold I wish Nature would hurry and make up its mind.

It's freezing today my body is like an old car that needs an eternity to warm up constantly backspacing fingers mistyping letters mistakes forever I wish I can rest but there's too much to do today. Appointments to keep deadlines to meet people to see meetings to go to I can see the wind stirring the bushes outside my window and the thought of going past the walls of my house fills me with dread. I need a mechanic to fix this rust bucket of a corpse that I animate.

 I wish I can tell you just how much effort it takes me just to go through the day. How many cups of coffee or sugary tea I need to function with a somewhat clear mind. The many times I need to get up and walk around exercise stiff joints only to sit in front of a screen again. The fake smiles and reassurances so that your world remains smooth and unbothered.

The Spirit is Willing but the Hands won't work So many ideas put on hold. Playing scenarios in my head black and white, like a noir film forgotten. Heating pads like oven mitts I hold a steaming cup of chai between frozen fingers Pencils lay unused the Muse cries out for attention I tell Her to wait. Ink runs dry dust collects on the letters that need to be answered. Thoughts chase in circles Needing to write, write, write but fingers cry out for rest. Tender Loving Care and the knowledge that the Body just knows what's best.

My body is a temple in the middle of the Amazon jungle overgrown with weeds but teeming with secrets The walls are crumbling insides fragile with rot but potent spells adorn the walls just waiting to be unlocked Spells of will, power to keep going despite it all. Not all magic is pure some are of bitterness and spite Memories of times gone by when health was taken for granted. It looks solid and mysterious on the outside how can such a strong place be so fragile? It doesn't look so dire and dangerous in the pictures in the travel books. But the soul is not its container And somehow it finds a way to go on As the mists close in the temple keeps its valiant fight.

My hands are wrinkled crooked and bent joints swollen misshapen yet they still dance across the piano keys and along the fretboard. I cannot do the delicate work on a freshly tumbled gem or solder silver wire in intricate patterns but I can string beads along a stretched out cord. They've changed the diapers of three babies now grown made them lunches sent them off to school. These fingers have tapped keys spun intricate worlds like fairy floss and funnel cakes at the world's biggest fair. They ache nowadays with the slightest change in the weather. I cannot do what I used to do as the years go by and cartilage wears away. But my desire to create will never cease to be.

Silent screams as daggers of ice plunge into her body paralyze her vocal chords into submission until no one realizes she is dying inside. A fog of forgetfulness rolls into her mind clouding every part of her brain into silence until no one realizes she is no longer herself.

I. I am overwhelmed by my body's odd workings and I wonder why it won't just work normally just like everyone else's? II. Doctors appointments so many medications infusions and tests and what is the problem here or is it all in your mind? III . Even with results a medical mystery misdiagnosis this isn't what I was taught so it just might not exist. IV. Brain fog everyday combat fatigue with coffee pray for five o'clock even then the job's not done the second shift just begins. V. Waiting for results every day a brand new war that you wage alone in a house of five people "I'm sorry, well, anyway."