Dehydration and the Unrelenting Symptoms of Fatigue.

I am weary.

In every sense of the word. I am tired and tried, confused and mislead. I have come across a land I do not know and I have tried to guess the eating habits of creatures I have never seen. I have tried to exist in a culture I am unfamiliar with; one I have never seen. I have found no sanctuary in this land.

I have been ignorant enough to think that I understand foreign soil without ever getting it under my fingernails. And now that I have let it stain the wrinkles on my tired hands, I’m still not sure of the place where I stand. I’ve looked up and seen the seeds I have sown, but the first stages of the crop are yielding a different kind of harvest, one I did not expect to stow in my storehouse.

The clouds have not parted, the Light has not shone brightly, but it is not quite eve yet. And while I sit and look out across the work of my hand, I see a return that only those with eyes to See would acknowledge as important. My mouth is parched with Thirst and my eyelids like heavy velvet curtains. Every movement seems to take more energy than normal. Thoughts of a lighter day take up sword and stand firm on the Rock against the nasty arrows of self-doubt and withering worthlessness.

But when I go to lay my head to rest, I give thanks for the space to expand and contract given to those closest to me.

And when I wake in the morning, I give thanks for another day and the new mercy a new day brings.

But still the symptoms cease to relent. So I drink, still, from the deep Waters and pray for nourishment to come.