So very, very tired
Hitting a wall at three or four each day, wanting to sleep endlessly. Wondering if I could go a whole day without small talk. Looking around my office, the tram and thinking, hey I'm in sleepytown, it's all a bizarre somnolent dream. And yet not sleeping well at night. Feeling queasy, all clogged up. It's my liver maybe, possibly my old friend the gallstone. Hard to tell if it's a physical or mental thing. Maybe both. All being checked out, eventhough the very thought of being poked and prodded, of discussing my body, even with my favourite hippy(ish), but well qualified and diligent doctor, makes me curl inside.
Trying to eat right, craving smoked salmon on rye, bitter lettuce, lemon juice in water, orange food; pumpkin, sweet potato, canteloupe. Trying to walk every day to counter the sluggishness. Yoga would be good, if only I could be bothered (yes, I realise herein lies half the problem, lying around makes you feel like shit especially when that's all you want to do). Doing things; playing with Grace, cleaning the house, shopping, going to work, writing, being in my life but dragging myself through each day. Thinking, I should be able to stop feeling like this. Thinking, why can't I just decide that everything will be different. And then, having made that committment, find that they are.
I want my brain back. All of it. I feel like the straw man, or scarecrow, from the Wizard of Oz, if only I had a brain.... His is revealed, but I'm not sure mine will return. I don't mind going to work, it's no harder or easier than home (except I can't nap, which is probably counterbalanced by being able to read at lunch and go to the toilet by myself) but like everything else I'm slow at it. Muddled, but my voice is so soft, even the toughest customers are nice to me, leading to some good chats. But I'm not busting my arse to work superfast when it's busy, I'm pushing through mud as it is. Feeling my brain pop, the clouds drift over. A weird sensation, almost like I'm going to fall but I don't. Of course I think about it, along with crawling into a cave, with a telly, some books and a nice handknitted rug or two. Waking up in spring. All fresh and new.
I don't dare stop though, what if I never got re-started again? Perhaps I need my purple pills checked.