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For some reason, I let it get to me.

Of course, by ‘it’ I mean ‘everything’.

I put the dog out this morning and the sky was starless, a perfect matte blue with the trees in black silhouette. As the dog disappeared into the blackness of the backyard, I stood on the deck and welcomed the chilly predawn air into my aching bones. I slowly lowered myself down onto the deck, laid on my back, staring skyward.

When you’re quiet and the world is still, you can hear the creek moving. The creek doesn’t stop when its late at night, it doesn’t take a break. I laid out on the deck, on my back, staring skyward, listening to water rush down through the creek and crash over the little waterfall. It’s no more than a 2 foot drop, but it sounds so loud in the predawn hours. The roar of Niagra in my backyard. As I lay there, Niagra offering up her music up to me, I started to let my mind wander, to think.

I don’t know that I’ve thought a lot lately.

I think I’m tired. I think I’m too old for this. I think I need a hug. I think I need to just let go.

I take on too much and I think I need to stop, but it’s in my nature. I took that personality test a while back and I found it kind of funny.

I’m the healer, the crusader. Does anyone know how hard it is to be a healer? Just look at the examples… Galahad found the holy grail and then begged to die. He couldn’t live without his cause. Joan of Arc completed her quest, outlived her usefulness, and was awarded by being burn at the stake.

Maybe it’s time I make myself my cause, maybe it’s time I heal me for a while. Healer, heal thy self and all.

But it makes me feel guilty.

Why does loving me, caring about myself make me feel guilty?

My knees ache, my legs hurt. I can’t see half the time. I have a constant headache. All I want to do is sleep. But I get up every morning, put on my happy face and greet the dawn.

My smile’s a fake. It has been for ages.

I need to rest.