SquarePeg Books

It’s interesting how much fatigue can mess with you. There are different kinds of fatigue.

What I hate about fatigue is the mysteriousness of it when it hits me. I go through the checklist– diet, water, mental health, exercise, supplements, medical conditions, emotional family issues, big life events, more medical conditions, more supplements. Am I going crazy? Am I the really Munchausen-hypochondriac my parents chastised me to be? Is my depression spinning up? Probiotics? Prebiotics? HRT? Rhodalia or St. John’s Wort?

My fatigue has been growing since March. We’ve moved from “blah” to “I can’t wait until I have bone surgery on my foot this summer. 6 weeks in bed, and no one can bitch about it. Not even me.”

Except…

There’s a list of things that need to be done before then, just to make things easier for my psyche during my enforced vacation. Setting up my room with things to do (*coughcoughwriting!coughcough**) is done. Little hand projects to break up the monotony (read: smallish distractions that I can pick up and put down whenever so I don’t toss my laptop across the room in frustration).

It’s the bigger things my brain is slacking on. Cleaning the house and mowing the lawn beforehand, cooking and freezing stuff beforehand, things like that. I got some of it done.

Part of me is excited about recovery from surgery. Not the pain killers–those irritate the hell out of me. But because I have a golden ticket to sit on my ass and not give a damn about anything except for me. I can just rest. I am literally required to rest.

The other part of me is convinced that line of thought is messed up.