Absent Reserves

The fatigue gets overwhelming.

My attention span for detail is crippled. My threshold for assimilating detail is lowered; the effort required can leave me exhausted.

My creativity wanes as fatigue waxes. It's difficult for me to communicate fully and richly.

My capacity for relationships shrinks as fatigue swells, taking up the space within that capacity.

I told Hubby sometime in the past couple days, "It's like I have no reserve."

But then I realize that isn't totally true. The truth is, I have little, not no, reserve.

Sometimes I think that others may think that I'm just not trying hard enough to push through for the next task. Or that I'm selfish, only thinking of Carol and her needs. That if only I had more will power, somehow that would give me motivation and then my fatigue would abate.

But the reality is that others mostly think about their own lives, not my fatigue or selfishness.

More likely, it is myself thinking to my self that maybe if I had more will power and push and motivation, that my fatigue would lift.

I'm still learning my new limits. If I overdo on any given day, I pay a price for the next three to five days.

Like the wedding I attended Saturday night. The ceremony, the festivity, the dancing, the music, seeing old friends. What a joyful and rich few hours were had by all. But then, I couldn't ride my bike for three days; my mind and body were dragging.

I find myself talking to my self out loud, helping me through my next task.

I find myself saying, "I am so fucking tired."

And then I remind myself, "Carol, all you need to care for are the four things, and the maybe-plus-one."

• 1) Move, just keep my body moving. Ride my bicycle on the Greenway. When the weather gets cold, visit the warm water pool at the Y. Move. Gentle movement, easy movement, simple movement. Just keep moving. 
• 2) Rest. Color a mandala. Work Sudoku. Watch TV. Sleep. Sit; listen; look. Be aware. Laugh. Rest. 
• 3) Keep the bills paid. Once a month, pay the bills. 
• 4) Take care of my pet sitting business. I love my animal friends. They are my healers on many a day. They listen to me and I them. They have cried with me and laughed with me. They have walked with me. The have loved me. Ironically, I get paid for their service to me. 
• Maybe-plus-1) If I have energy left, do some laundry. 

I seldom ever cook or prepare food anymore. If I do, I have to trade out exercise or pet sitting for the energy involved in cooking. Most of the time I cannot cook because of the weakness in my hands and arms.

With any endeavor, I have to measure my energy account and figure the costs.

I miss hiking. I still grieve that loss. But I keep a golden thread of hope.

Oh my, all that sounds so dreadfully dreary...and I didn't even get written what I had thought to write, which was about how fatigue feels, about how my head wants to drop into the dinner plate.

And even though days are filled with fatigue, my life isn't dreary.  It still unfolds with serendipity every week, almost daily.

Maybe I'll have energy later to write the story of the male, nude sunbather I saw last week along that small footpath off of the Greenway. That incident kept me grinning for three days.