The Buried Life

I’ve had a bad couple of days. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed with my life. I haven’t been able to sit still, yet most everything on my to-do list involves sitting still and concentrating, focusing. Work, school, planning for future work, stressing over other personal life issues.
School, school, and more school.


I felt physically ill, nauseous; I was crying, irritable, nervous. I felt on the verge of breakdown, and said so.

My husband looked at me knowingly, “You do this at the beginning of every semester, and you always end up fine,” he said.

"Yeah, I know, but this time it’s twice as bad because I’m taking twice as many classes.”

He shook his head.

Earlier in the day I had posted a status update on Facebook: “FLConfetti has that buried feeling.”

Only one friend responded. He said one word: “Dig.”

I kicked an imaginary wall in frustration.

This friend managed to survive medical school, and so much more. I’m sure he’s had his days of feeling buried. I can’t NOT listen to him.

Kick.

Pout.

Dig.



(thanks, Doc)