I did a very grown-up thing today. I sucked up my pride and admitted to my boss that I needed to take some time off. Not too much time - it’s just next week - but it was harder to do than I expected. Weakness and I are not best friends by any means. Over the past month, I’ve become addicted to the small dose of personal pride I felt each time someone complimented me on “handling this very well.” It comes from being an overachiever. I was winning at grief. I was doing better at it than most people, because most people probably want to fall over in the street from the weight of all. Of course I still feel like urge, at least once a day. But I wasn’t acting on it. I was (a horrible pun is coming) killing it in the coping department.

But I’m not. I haven’t had an unaided night of sleep since all of this happened. My focus at work is 50% what it used to be: for example, it took me an entire day yesterday to rewrite a webpage that should have taken two hours. I’m hiding in the mechanical rote portions of my job description while the more creative projects pile up on my to-do list as I recognize that I don’t have the mental strength to take them on at the moment. I got in a (work) fight with a well-known blogger because I insisted on being rigid about something. I am not the Superwoman I like to pretend I am. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of moving. I’m tired.

So I am taking a break. Not from the Internet, but from responsibility. I’m sitting back for a week. Maybe read a book. Watch some TV. Go to some places in New York City that you can’t touch on the weekends. A friend offered her parents’ house on Fire Island for my use, but I don’t think that’s going to work out. Even that seems like too much work.

Oh.

And yesterday, I paid off my credit card debt. All of it. I am 100% debt free. Thank you, Mom. From the bottom of my heart.