For this entire summer, I've been given all the time and space I needed to go through this difficult medical journey. When I needed to rest, I rested, and no one said boo. I not only am grateful for the latitude, but I also feel a modicum of guilt that I'm the only one around here who got it. When my kids come over (from whatever distance), I've put them to work. They have cooked and cleaned, fetched and carried. Yet they have gotten off easy by virtue of not living here.
Mr S-P is plainly overworked by any metric one could apply. During the summer, while he wasn't teaching any classes, he has had to drive Lyft practically round the clock. He goes out in the morning for several hours, takes a break at home in the afternoon, and then goes out again at night, often well past midnight. I stay up late each night to write this blog, and it's rare that he's actually in the house when I'm doing it. When he's home, he has to take care of all the living souls around here, well more than just me. With two dogs, and until two weeks ago five cats (I still miss you, Rabbit), fish, lizards, and the wild birds and squirrels all expecting to be fed daily, he never gets to sleep late, even after driving until 1 or 2 in the morning. Murray sets the schedule, needing extensive care as a paraplegic dog who sleeps inside a locked door. If Mr S-P isn't mopping the garage floor at 7:30 in the morning, a miracle has happened. Add to all this taking care of me during down weeks, plus his cabin build and D&D campaign, and forget burning a candle at both ends. He's chucked that candle straight into a bonfire to be consumed all at once.
School starts up again next week, and he got no time to rest physically and mentally before diving into teaching two community college courses. This afternoon, when he came home after driving for at least five hours, he crashed in a two-hour nap, from which he dreamed he was doing yard work. He woke, realizing that he was actually supposed to be doing just that, but he was so tired, all he could do was run some errands, to get new belt sander belts, and start working on sanding the reclaimed lumber that goes up this weekend to the cabin. ("All," I said.) After dinner, he kept stressing out, finding wide open car windows when a severe thunderstorm rolled over, Murray laundry that failed to make it into the dryer, and other things that kept frustrating him, until he was so agitated he dropped and shattered a bowl when all he wanted to do was sit down with ice cream.
I feel terrible that he's under so much pressure. I'm feeling a little better this week, and am able to take care of myself, as well as take over some cooking and cleaning. I have yet to steer a car this cycle, so I won't pretend I could take over some of his driving. That's not possible. The best I can do is be a cheerleader, and encourage him to rest as much as time allows. I tried to persuade him not to go to the mountain yesterday, but to take a day off. When it hailed and rained on him, I was convinced I was right, but I tried not to needle him about it. That would have been unfair. And if this summer has been anything, it has been unfair quite enough, thank you.
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