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Today, I invented banana splits.

I went to the grocery store–hungry and sore and exhausted–and I picked up a rotisserie chicken and some vegetable soup for dinner, and for dessert, a pint of cashew salted caramel ice cream and a banana.

It seemed like an odd pairing to me: ice cream and banana.  But I wanted the banana’s potassium for my sore muscles, and I wanted the ice cream for my exhausted spirit.  As I brought both into the living room, curled up on the couch, and was ready to feed myself the banana with one hand and the ice cream with the other, I decided to cut the banana with my spoon and drop the chunks directly on top of the softened pint.

I was feeling decadent and inventive and thought about sending a quick text to my foodie friend about my wildly creative pairing when it suddenly dawned on me: I had created the banana split.


I still texted my foodie friend and she was quick to add: Quick, now invent some whipped cream.  And Maraschino cherries.  Hop to…

I laughed at her, and myself.

And then added to the conversation: I used to feel smart. 

And it’s true.

I used to feel smart.

And now I just feel tired.  My brain seems sluggish.  My critical thinking–in fact, nearly all my thinking–has gone on hiatus.  Perhaps my intellect left for Finland when I did not.

Maybe I’m just tired.  Tired of being tired.  And moreover, tired of not doing nothing.

Doing nothing is a fine art.  And I’ve been neglecting my studies.

There is always something to do.  There is always somewhere to go.  There is always something that demands attention or must be done.

I’ve just come off the most exhausting weekend of my life and I find that I’m ready to do nothing.  It’s seems cruel to work until your knuckles are sore and your body aches from head to toe only to wake the next day and find it’s time to go back to work–your real job, that won’t tax you as much physically, but will certainly tax you mentally–the one functioning muscle you still boast after 48+ hours of grueling physical labor.

And then again, maybe I don’t have even that.

Because my face looked like a punching bag when I woke up this morning.  It was swollen and my eyes bloodshot.  I couldn’t make a fist my fingers were so inflamed.  What I was feeling was second only to what I felt after finishing my half marathon.  Holy, bloody hell.

We spent the weekend replacing a floor in a local nail salon.  It was a side job we picked up.  And way, way, way undercharged for labor.

But this isn’t about the side job.  Or that I bowed out from tonight’s activities with his kids two days ago.

No, this about the fact that I feel exhausted.  And less smart.

And maybe my feeling less smart is also why I’m feeling exhausted.

In other words: I’m not making choices that honor what I want or need.

I want to do nothing.  I want to spend hours doing nothing.  Because in that ‘nothingness’ is rest and relaxation.  In that nothingness is a chance at rejuvenation and true creativity.  In that nothingness is a chance to decompress, to expand, to grow, to soften, to listen, to learn.

In that nothingness, there is a chance of rediscovering me.




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