Poke me with a fork

Poke me with a fork, I’m done. I need a vacation.

There’s a Sunday every week for crying out loud. They never stop. It’s no wonder church workers everywhere don’t stage a coup and declare a churchless holiday. Back in the new millennium, the olden days, there was time between Easter and Pentecost. You could seperate days and weeks. I could actually fit my over work into an average week.

I guess I knew it was time for a vacation when I woke up in the middle of the night thinking about the paper order so I got up and went online to order, THEN I went to the bathroom. Or, maybe I knew it was time for a vacation when I started answering when I talked to myself?

Weeping has become standard practice when it’s time for a vacation. It’s like living in a card commercial there’s so much to weep about. I even upgraded the tissues on my desk from generic to the fluffy ones. The real sign is when I OPEN forwarded messages, and even though I’ve read them before, I forward them myself. This is the meltdown stage and time to fill out the paid time off form for sure. Clearly I’ve lost my ability to delete. What good am I?

Meltdown stage happens when I get exhausted, pushed to handle 8 things at once instead of just 4, or when I can’t remember the things stashed in my head and have to, gulp, write things down. Meltdown stage is a sign I need to remove myself and stop inflicting myself on those who claim to love me. As my worship church pastor says, “if your there, say I am.”

I am.

The good news is, this time I recognized the oncoming meltdown and I hope to avert system shutdown. I scheduled two delicious weeks off and I am taking them.


About Robin Arnold

Reader, writer, gardener, geek, maker of homes in several states, now settled in Virginia with husband Bob, and Hazel and Wilson the tabby cats.
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