When You're Just Too Tired

That's not me, by the way, I'm older and fatter and more brunette (with grey streaks).

But it might as well be, this week. It certainly captures my mood if nothing else.

Here's the thing. I love my job. I love to write, for fun as well as very occasional profit. I love my kids (both my students and my own). I love the holiday season.

But it doesn't matter how much I love these things and people; too much is too much. I expressed it on Facebook like this:

"TFW even writing for catharsis or fun (which I love) is Just Too Much Work. #HolidaysAreHard #BrainIsFluffToday"

Then I added that in Mental Health Speak, it would probably be put as "Even Preferred Activities are difficult for the patient to complete."

I'm tired. Between the missing ornament box (and the associated shenanigans involved in trying to find it and/or improvise for our Christmas tree), the last nearly two years of Covid (and the associated shenanigans by people who think they know better than scientists), the time before that of political upheaval (and the associated shenanigans by, well, my federal government and their lackeys), the time (barely) before that of my husband's death (and the associated shenanigans by the American Healthcare System, such as it is), and the recent spate of school shooting threats (and the assorted shenanigans by people who want to shoot the messenger), I'm just tired.

Tired to the point that it has taken me a good six days to write this 600-word article.

Oh, I'm taking care of myself. I'm taking lots of short breaks in and around work and gift-wrapping and so forth. I'm taking short naps to recharge in the middle of the day, though that only lasts for a couple of hours. I'm reading comfort books and playing comfort games and eating comfort food (so far as I am able with my wonky elimination diet). I'm taking my vitamins, using my CPAP machine, and getting enough rest. I'm meditating. I'm even adequately hydrated.

But right now it's not enough, and something's gotta give.

That something ends up being writing, more often than not. Writing requires a certain amount of organization, enough minutes in a row to get going properly, and cannot easily be done on my smartphone, though I have been known to dictate notes that I write down later.

Even that is too hard this week.

It may just be down to my need to hibernate and the tendency to indulge in what my therapist and I have decided to call "mindful procrastination." This is when you know things must be done, but they can be put off until later... as long as you're mindful enough about it to make sure it does get done eventually. For me this mindfulness is hard - probably ADHD at work - and so my way of being mindful is to have notes at the bottom of my to-do list that say things like, "Brakes van Mon 20 11ish."

Helpful in the long term, but not so much in the day-to-day.

I suspect that - as is usually the case - these things will all be less fraught as soon as I have the Christmas holiday behind me and a good week left before going back to work. Then, the decorations will be put away, the ornaments may have been found, and I won't be getting up early for work. The kids will have plenty to keep them occupied, I may have new toys, and the house will be relatively clean. The van will be tuned up, re-braked, and headlights replaced. Also, payday.

So then I may have the time, the inclination, and the motivation to bang out an article or six in less than a week.