Blame it on the moon, but I've really been in deep thought lately. Fatigue. Exhaustion. Label it what you wish, it's all the same. But it's got me thinking...
Things exhaust me now that didn't used to. I mean...even the thought of certain things exhaust me. Greater than 10 emails in my inbox exhausts me. Walking into a messy house exhausts me, as does the prospect of straightening it. The 800 number of the bill collector du jour that pops up on my phone exhausts me. The monkey wrench thrown into my plans exhausts me...and in my line of work and household, there is an abundance of monkey wrenches. See the pattern, here?
I've made some adjustments over the past several months in the hopes that I'd feel more energetic and lively.
I cut my hours back from 50+ per week to 40. The benefit I've found in it is that I'm able to get to Thursday before I'm completely wiped out, whereas I used to only make it until Wednesday. See, I give my whole self in my work. By the time the clock strikes 4pm, I've left it all on the table. I've always worked like that and wouldn't know how to do it any other way. When I walk in the house, I don't feel as if I have much left for those I love with my whole heart.
My kids have only ever known me with ms. As toddlers, they spent many an afternoon locked safely in my baby-proofed bedroom with me, toys galore to play with, and quietly played or napped alongside me. They're now 13 and 11. When they notice me looking more like Raggedy Ann than myself, they'll ask if I need a nap. I say no. They ask if I'd like to watch tv with them. I say yes, but usually end up drifting off to sleep. Some time later, I wake up with a blanket draped over me. I apologize to them, they say it's okay. And it's genuine. Nowhere in their little hearts do they feel cheated, or disappointed, or saddened, because this is their normal. My "mom guilt" says they would have to...but they truly do not. Thank you, Lord, for these kids.
My household duties are unforgiving. Dishes cascade out of the sink, attempting to throw themselves onto the floor. The laundry pile stares me straight in the eye, because that's how high it is...and mocks me. It dares me to carry it down the stairs in baskets. Instead, I drag the 5' high stacked basket to the very top of the stairs and give it a shove. Land where you will, socks, undergarments, and towels. I really don't care anymore. You're all getting bleached anyway! Later, when my husband returns from a hard day's work and sees the leftover carnage of a stray sock or wash cloth, he'll say, "I could've carried that down to the laundry room for you, honey." In my mind I say, "if you meant that, you would've done it already...honey." Instinctively, he says something like, "well, I mean I would've done it if you'd have asked me to. You know I don't do things on my own." True that. Thank you, Lord, for this crazy husband.
Just another one of those invisible symptoms, perhaps one of the most difficult to push through without being noticed. And it's not that I don't pump my Blood Caffeine Level up to a solid 5.0...it's just that coffee only has so much power. Thank you, Lord, for Dunkin' Donuts.
Admittedly, I'm feeling like fatigue is kicking my tail. So what I'm going to do is follow the advice of the article in MS Focus by journaling the things I do in a day and using the "drawer system". I just hope this drawer system isn't like my drawers at home. They're all empty. The clean and folded clothes don't usually make it from the baskets to the drawers. Takes energy, ya know. And my thing is...if I'm taking it from that basket, wearing it, and tossing it into another basket? Stacking it in a drawer is just a waste of my time. Right? So yeah, the "drawer method". Let's give that a whirl! Like dear friend/chiropractor always said..."what could happen???"
I'll let you know, especially if the drawers fall on top of me. 'Cause that's something that can happen!
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