Statement of fact.
Yes, I tried.
My stove top is currently a macaroni art project gone horribly wrong.
True story.
Managing extreme fatigue is akin to…well…it’s like trying to do cross-stitching when you’re drunk.
Not that I have.
I’m merely trying to illustrate the insane amount of brain power it takes to still coherently function while under the effects of chronic inflammation, pharmaceutical poisons (if you’re on them) and an exorbitant amount of pain in the chaos of my reality.
It’s been an awesome summer, it has. But I’m so burnt out and have literally not a single thing to show for it.
I did not move.
I did not create a major motion picture.
I did not pen a book.
I did not buy a brand new truck, I did not, ever, give a…
You know.
So, how do I manage the chaos of my reality? The plethora of back-to-school to-do lists? The logistics of managing four at-home children?
*shrug*
Thought I’d nailed it, really. Had lists and charts and calendars (three of them)…and I’m still the nucleus that makes the mutha’ freakin’ world go ’round.
I don’t want to be a nucleus.
I want to be an amoeba.
Better still, I want everyone ELSE to be an amoeba.
Responsible for the daily function of their respective characters within the made-for-tv-movie kind’o'life within which we live.
Self-contained perfection.
Totally would conform with my OCD.
Totally.
It seems pretty common, too:
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“Ask for help.”
“I did.”
[enter crickets chirping, stage left]
Yes, there are priorities, and yes, I’ve certainly made and re-vamped my list of them…multiple times. In truth, sometimes I feel frustrated about posting the lags in my functioning because…well…whatever is going to change about it?
Shit still needs to get done. If there’s a break in the chain, I am still ultimately responsible for the fallout(s) from the whateveritisthatdidnotgetdone.
To recap:
I try to throw stuff off my plate. It doesn’t land on anybody in particular. I then need to not only pick it up and dust it off…but then do it my-damn-self.
They have now just added to my plate…the degree to which is directly proportional to howevermuchdidnotgetdone.
Amoeba.
Word.
Go, Go Protozoa!
