Because quiet time is precious

There is a little boy curling into my side, breathing soft and slow.  I wonder if he's dreaming of Spiderman.  Spiderman's his latest hero, you know.  How I've missed this...

I'm home...and it's good.  So good.

Good heavens, my brain is tired.

Let winter break begin.

Whew.

For better or worse, I learned and crammed and remembered and wrote as much as I could.  My results won't measure up to my standards, but I've known that for awhile.  Still, I tried and that's all anyone can ask of me - including myself.  Right?

Why waking up early can be rewarding

5:30 am: Silence usually spooks me before it stills me.

Regardless of the context - conversation, driving, trying to sleep, writing, studying - I generally need a fair amount of time to settle into silence.  There's something about the early morning hours, though, that renders all of that settling-time unnecessary.

In the interest of full disclosure: it could be the coffee, kicking in.

I'm strongly considering a refill.

But it could also be this hush, this undisturbed calm before all of the day's demands begin to clamor into the places where they ought to back off, thank you very much.

In which I remind myself about what matters

After the official end of term (which was the Friday before yesterday), the university gives students a week off before exams begin.  I call this the study week.

My upstairs neighbors call it the play-techno-music-that-shakes-the-walls-until-4-am week.

So on Thursday night, I braided my hair, slipped into bed, and thought, it would be nice if they would just go to bed so I could rest.  We all need to study.  Don't they know what really matters?

Thank goodness she's here.

The room was spinning.  Spinning.

Where are my legs?

Let's backtrack.  At maybe 9 pm this past Saturday, I was knee-deep in a mental checklist for the next morning.  It probably wouldn't be responsible of me to bike all the way to Salthill.  My body's a little too beaten up to tackle those hills.  Surely someone could give me a lift to church.  After posting a Facebook message on the church page to see if anyone might be available, I left the laptop open on my bed.

The Sunday before this past weekend, I’d been in Derry, and the Sunday before that was the one I wish I could forget.  This was the first time in those two weeks that I was planning how to get to church the next morning.

I padded over to the dresser to plan an outfit – oh, it would be cute if I wore my new leg warmers with those jeans – and draped my choice over the back of my desk chair.  This chair is borrowed from the living room table, because my real desk chair has a loose bit of plastic that snags my clothes.

The milkman

My friend Emily spent her October writing a series about rest - or, as she so endearingly dubbed it, hush.[1]  Now, I'm the type of person who's in constant pursuit of rest - yes, I mean sleep, but rest is broader than that.  Rest is different.  Rest - at least, for me - is more buoyed by perfect calm, more intertwined with joy and its lightness, more anchored by the hopeful heart.[2]  So as October slipped by, I eagerly followed, read, commented, absorbed the lessons she was teaching me, and delighted in walking beside her.

I almost finished October beside her, too.  But toward the end of that month, life dealt my family a rough hand.  The cards haven't been staying in my hands, either - on the contrary, they've been flying everywhere, bouncing off the walls.  And on examination, none of them say anything resembling rest.  (I may be asking too much when it hasn't even been two weeks yet, but like I said, this is a constant pursuit.)

A season of many naps

For some reason I wouldn't be able to explain, the Bay reminds me of this song I learned in grade school choir.  We always sang it in canon: "By the waters of Babylon/We lay down and wept/We remember thee, Zion."

To all of you well-intentioned, shoulder-patting, suddenly-wise-and-theological crazy people out there: you're being awkward.  You are doing nothing constructive by telling me that "at least she's not sick anymore!"  Offer me all the hackneyed platitudes you want, bud, but do it at your own risk - the risk being that I will find the energy to explode at you.

Whew.  Now, to the rest of you:

This is a season of many naps.

The North, Part II: we all need peace.

Saturday morning: The sauna was real.

So was the pool, and the (surprise) steam room.  Last night was like a Sunday afternoon at home; by 10:30 pm, I was thoroughly worn out and burrowed into the hotel comforter.  Had I not woken with a frenzied start at 4 am (and 4:30 am, and 5:15 am), it would have been a completely rejuvenating night.

Still, the sauna was real and warm and woody and I've breathed relaxation for the first time in days.

The North, Part I: think of the sauna.

Friday evening, around 6 pm: Hello, friends, from the coach bus I’ve gotten to know quite well over the past few weeks.  I write as the bus trundles up a hill, on the last leg of a journey up to Co. Derry.  This will be the North – yes, the bit that’s part of the UK and prefers sterling to the euro.  My itinerary boasts accommodation in a Best Western, and rumor has it that a pool and sauna are there, just waiting for this overtired girl.  (Since there hasn’t been any hot water in the apartment for a week, I hope this sauna actually exists.  It might just be what my shoulders need.)

Fighting

The past few days have blurred together.  I think today is Wednesday.  My computer calendar agrees.

I remember that on Sunday night, I couldn't sleep.  I stole catnaps here and there and kept the music on.  (Please keep sending music.)  And since Sunday night, I've done nothing but sleep.  Why?  Well...my bed is safe.  My bed is warm.  No one dies in this safe, warm bed.

On Sunday night, I caught a few of my cousins on Skype, and we chatted some.  (They live all over the world, so someone was always online.)  The conversations weren't exactly cheery, obviously, but it still felt good to connect with them.  I know they love me.  I'm jealous that they got to fly to Bangalore from all over while I lay in bed on my left side and typed with my right hand...as if that might be enough.

There's something about a hot shower...

My Endocrinology professor requires white coats for her labs.  I feel like I'm cheating, wearing this when my white coat ceremony isn't until August...but it does give me a thrill to see myself in it.  I'm choosing to view this as practice (yes, at wearing the coat.  August is mere months away, after all.)

Although I'm posting this now, I wrote it at noon, huddled warm in a library chair and dreaming of coffee.  It's been a tiring day.  (And to my Union pals: I have yet to find anything at the NUIG library that compares with the couch tubs in ours.  I never thought I'd miss the library - that's a laugh and a half.  You all may also be interested to know that this one closes at 10 pm on most days, unlike our oh-so-healthy 2 am.  Preposterous!)

Dropping anchor

Today's one of those days when all I need is this:

Over the past six weeks, as I've explored what it means to live abroad, I've been on the lookout for reasons to be thankful.  Gratitude (when I can manage it) has an "anchoring" effect on me; when I don't make a conscious effort to embrace it, I'm liable to spin off in a thousand chaotic directions.