"I did three things yesterday! Now I'm supposed to keep doing things? It's like the things never end!"

I'm borrowing this image from Deva, who's post on being overloaded made me laugh, though I was too overwhelmed myself to actually comment on it.

Po Bronson wrote, in an introduction to his book on relationships, "Why Do I Love These People" about his own divorce. This didn't make it into the online clip I just linked to, but he talked about what life was like right after he separated. He said he went to a rooming house and fell off the edge of the earth. For months. He holed up there, retracting from the world into a tight, unpenetrable ball, not communicating or responding to anyone.

I feel like this lately.

Looking for a new place and just... I dunno... dealing with the logistics of this huge change has been incredibly draining. That's not even including the taxing whirlwind of thoughts like: "omg, people we were mutually friends with don't all hate me?" and "I work with the nicest, kindest people in the world who are so sweet and not judging me at all;" and "my friends, incredible friends who walk on water for me ALL the time, thy awesomeness amazeth me;" and "wow, even the lawyer with the awesome marriage didn't judge me for my failure;" and "my new landlord seemed to understand my spleen and didn't mind renting to it anyway."

Every day I feel a sense of gratitude and I think there are important lessons here, this won't be the first time in your life that you'll have to reinvent your definition of yourself; that will happen with every loss.

Or change.

Maybe the only constant in life is change.

I think these things and I breathe and I make it through another day.

I see my inbox piling up with messages from friends who check in to see how I'm doing. I read their emails and smile, sometimes misty-eyed, grateful to know so many wonderful people. I've developed the terrible habit of replying in my head, thinking that sweet message deserves so much more than what I have time for now; I'll write back later.

And then later doesn't come. I sink into bed at night, exhausted, welcoming the oblivion that sleep brings.

I stole a recent Facebook status from Hyperbole and a Half:

"I'm doing pretty well! I can breathe and beat my heart like a $#*@(& champion!"

"I did three things yesterday! Now I'm supposed to keep doing things? It's like the things never end!"

This entire next month, the act of packing, moving and travel threatens consume what little energy I have but I'm hoping to devote at least some weekend time to blogging and catching up on emails. (I've given up on this as a weekday activity, but Saturdays bring hope... IF I'm not on the road.)

So lately, this has been me. From Quinn Cummings' blog:

I have developed a wonderful new personality trait: if I think about doing something long enough, I start to think I actually did it . For example, I might need to return the call of someone who has very kindly checked in to see if I’m dead.

[I don’t like talking on the phone so I encourage people to email me, which I then don’t answer. People frequently think I’m dead and not just when I choose to wear lemon yellow.]

So in my mind, I think: "call Betsy-not-her-real-name and get caught up". Only, getting caught up takes a while and I usually only think of calling people when I have just dropped Daughter off at a class and I want company for the three trips around the block it will take to find a parking space. That’s not enough time to get caught up. In my mind, getting caught-up takes at least forty-five minutes and with each week that passes I have to add another extra five minutes to atone for being the kind of person who drops off the face of the earth. Each time I think of Betsy-not-her-real-name, I flinch for a second and then I say sternly to myself “YOU HAVE TO CALL HER.”

Weeks would pass like this. Until recently, my only hope was that we would run into one another in a public space where I could blubber my apologies for being an indifferent communicator and she could determine I was alive but rude. [CONTINUE]

I have tossed my only lemon-yellow shirt into the donation pile; next to tackle are the messages and phone calls. I'll get there eventually...

What do you do to recharge when you're depleted? Maybe I just need to allow myself to wallow in huge amounts of space until I'm ready to resurface. That happens in increments, it seems.