Burning the Candle at Both Ends

I never thought, in a million years, that someone (besides my mother) would tell me I'm not eating enough. And I also never thought I would believe it, but now I do.

I just got over being sick. I ended up taking two days off work, staying in bed for three. On the fourth day, I felt a little bit better, so I started packing and moving and returned to work. This is day five and I packed and moved two truck loads and worked another shift today. My boss told me yesterday that I wasn't eating enough and that my body needs more fuel to deal with the illness, the stress of moving and working. He asked me to list what I had eaten yesterday and I could barely remember, but it wasn't that much. I scoffed at that, because who can trust a man telling me that I shouldn't be drinking plain water, but that even sugar water would be better for me right now. I'm still not buying that one - sugar water is not good for anyone anytime - but I do believe he may be onto something about not eating enough.

When I went to work today, I got shaky when my lunch break was 15 minutes overdue, so I bought more food than I really needed and ate it with more haste than was wise. Maybe I'm not eating enough to sustain this work load...but maybe more important than eating more is working less. Maybe I'm doing too much. I feel much better today than yesterday and 10x better today than the day before, but I can feel that I need more sleep and restful time. In the middle of the moving work today, I stopped and swam with friends. My moving partner seemed a little frustrated that I suggested a break in the afternoon until I reminded her that I was working the evening shift after a full day of moving that started with her 7am wake up call. That swim helped me feel refreshed, but the swimming and pool side chat only lasted 30 minutes.

There is no help for working hard tomorrow since the movers are coming on Friday, but after the movers on Friday, I need to shift my focus and start getting some rest. No more of this hectic, frenetic moving around. I promise myself that this Friday thru Sunday, I will sleep 8 hours each night, walk the dog around the ponds at my new place, take a swim in the pool and lay around my condo for at least an hour with a good book. If I'm not completely unpacked and moved in within a weekend, who cares? And, frankly, who's going to notice?