FATigue.

 (photo)

Once upon a time I'd love to have a sleep in.  To wake up, look over at the clock and see that it was 1pm.  1pm!  Oh how decadent I felt.  Let them eat cake! (and preferably in bed).  To lie there in comfort, whilst the rest of the world went on, stuck in regimented adherence to every tick of the clock.  A joy.  A forbidden pleasure.  One all the sweeter for remembering how much you'd be yelled at for being lazy as a child if you slept past 10am.  Might as well have dessert before dinner or chocolate pudding for breakfast.  The halcyon days of adulthood and all it's glorious freedoms.

But now.

Ugh!

My bed and I are spending far to much time together.  And whilst there is quantity, the quality is missing.

Take away choice and the excitement fades.

Take away choice and the elicit pleasure of sleeping in on a workday becomes a chore.

Fatigue has bitten me on the arse these past few weeks and there are no signs that it is getting ready to leave.  It's not like I don't experience fatigue on a regular basis, because I do.  It's part and parcel of living with Bob.  The medical sites compare the quality of a Bobette's life with that of someone with congestive heart failure.  Yay!  Apparently it takes us three times the energy just to stand as a healthy person, so my baseline is pretty low to begin with.  But dammit, I am starting to think that I'm carrying not only my own unmanageable boxes of fatigue, but the boxes of everyone in the surrounding district.

I know the change in weather is partly to blame for my current bout of uberexhaustion.  Spring lulled me into a false sense of security.  I was enjoying the sunshine and the mild weather.  The new leaves slowly unfurling in the garden.  The randy birds fornicating left, right, and centre, in my backyard.  I actually sat out in my garden chair and caught a couple of rays.  But then those couple of pesky degrees were added to the weather.  It was a balmy 19C (66.2F for my international readers) yesterday and it sucked the wind right out of me.  I am lucky that I live in the hills surrounding the fair city of Melbourne as we are always 4 or 5 degrees cooler than the city.  But turning into a wet sock at 19C does not bode well for the Summer.  Me thinks my heat intolerance may be getting a wee bit worse.

Being sucker punched by fatigue makes life exhausting.

Walking to the loo = exhausting.

Having a shower = exhausting.

Getting dressed = exhausting.

Standing up to make my morning sanity coffee = exhausting.

Yelling at the kids = exhausting.

Lifting arms = exhausting.

Moving legs = exhausting.

Breathing = exhausting.

Fatigue sucks.

FATtigue.  It has the "fat" built right in and it's that damn artery clogging, heart attack causing, transfat.  Might as well chuck a blended BigMac in an IV and stick it straight in my arm, it could hardly slow me down any more than my current snail lifestyle.

I'm starting to think that the universe is sending me sarcastic messages.  Good old Dictionary.com sent me "Indefatigable", as my word of the day.  Indefafrickentigable.  You've got to be kidding me?  Whilst fatigue may have the "fat" built in, Dictionary.com definitely has the "dic' built in.

So back to bed I go.  Exhausted despite sleeping most of yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.  No doubt I'll be exhausted when I wake up again.  Woo Hoo Spring. Woo fricken Hoo Summer to come. 


The yawning Michelle :)

Running up that Hill, Placebo (2003), because that's how I feel at the moment.   I'm old enough to remember when Kate Bush originally released this, and may have the cassette gathering dust somewhere, but I do love Placebo and the weirdly attractive Brian Moloko.