I was sitting in a big upholstered chair, sipping some sort of flavored water, just put down a copy of Entertainment Weekly reading about all the summer movies. My cleaning woman is out in the garden sweeping with water to clean the floor out there, after telling me she was late because she had to wait 45 minutes for a bus. She had just cleaned my bedroom, one bathroom, changed my sheets and swept and mopped my steps and then headed for the garden. With more of the apartment ahead of her.
I'm sitting there, put down the magazine, put my head back, close my eyes and muttered, "I'm so tired."
Ewwwww. Mary and I talk about this frequently. I know everything is relative, and I know I have a very privileged life. For example, one of my clients told me that his brakes were feeling funny and he took his car in and the bill was $500. He said something to the effect of, "I don't like spending that money, but I have it." And we wonder what people who don't have $500 do -- drive around with bad brakes?
But back to my shaming -- I am allowed to be tired even though there will always be someone more tired than I am. I got a bit defensive with myself and thought that I'm tired but at least I'm earning money to pay her with.