It was just what I needed. In Salt Lake City, my sister and I jumped into a hurricane simulator after my mom generously put up the $2 we refused to pay. The fake wind kept getting faster and faster: it blew so hard that it took me an entire day to be able to run a brush through my hair again (but who knows if those two situations are at all related).
That hurricane wind is in my daily life: pressuring me, pushing me every which way. And the thing is, I don't have a hard life. I work 40 hours a week: never more, never less. I have a fairly low-maintenance husband (only booze is required). I don't have kids, just a dog that lives on real and artificial bacon. I know people who actually have it rough: they listen to kids scream all day, they work more hours than I do, they hate their spouses. But even though my life is so ordinary, it's hard for me to keep up.
Finishing the day is a sigh of relief, a sense of accomplishment. Rather than relishing in my days, I watch weeks tick by, weekends fly by, and seasons change. I'm always counting: days until...
Until anything; anything else. I am waiting for the hurricane to end.
What I don't think about is that it is continuous: life passes in days, in hours, in minutes. It is these little minute daily tasks of taking a walk each night and reading books in bed that are relief from all the shitty parts. There isn't some time when all of people's bullshit and life's hardships is going to leave me alone. I have to find a way to deal with them in my daily coming and going.
I can keep up. I just need