I want to talk about fatigue.
I want to talk about the second and third shifts. The don’t-even-look-at-the-dishes-in-the-sink fatigue. The double-booked because it’s too hectic to look at the calendar and now I’ve had to let someone down busyness fatigue.
I want to talk about gear changing. The weary rousing of oneself from work mode to parent mode and back again. The feeling that a day, any old day, without any juggling acts would be some kind of bliss. A selfish, perfectly selfish, bliss.
I want to talk about bone tiredness: the I-don’t-have-time-for-the-gym which becomes I-don’t-have-the-energy-anymore-ask-me-tomorrow. I want to talk about the physical slowness, the inward curling and energy slumping that comes from mental fatigue.
I want to talk about emotional wear. The sense of hopelessness that comes with never having enough left to give. The guilt, of letters unwritten and phone calls un-made. The frustration that the work of relationship maintenance so readily eclipses its rewards, or feels like it will.
I want to talk about pacing and rocking and please please just sleep for crying out loud just sleep for fuck’s sake please just GO TO SLEEP.
I want to talk about the need to do writing and not having time for writing and not having energy left with which to make more time because the rewards of writing, the energising release and the pleasure have all been doled out. The stores are empty.
I want to talk about email in-box anxiety and bursting into tears over upended laundry baskets.
I want to talk about the fatigue of being fatigued. The wearing down of it. The hurt of coming up against one’s limitations and having to remember, always remember, that they are there. That illness is there at the edge of one’s capabilities, or near.
I want to talk about the work of wishing to be healthy. Of trying to think of shopping and cooking and eating well, of filling prescriptions on time and seeking recommendations and referrals and making appointments and dreaming of finding a yoga class and thinking as if there will ever be time.
I want to talk about the shame of even talking of doing too much when others do so much more. And about how maybe too many of us do so much that there can only be a deficit between doing and being.
I want to talk about all of that. But really, I’m too tired.