I’ve been exhausted over the past week. Right now my lids are heavy, and despite being caffeinated I’m ready to crawl back under my sheets and sleep away the day.
I’m in a phase of life right now that’s beckoning change. The lunar cycle and the eclipses are motivating me to write, plan away every last minute in my calendar, get my ass back into the gym, deep clean my home, and commit at least two days a week to my horse and the goals I have with riding. But my body is saying no right now, and it’s completely deflating.
I’ve been sick going on two weeks with no clue where I got this bug from. I’m coughing up a lung every night before I go to sleep, and every morning again to make up for the hacking I wasn’t able to achieve while unconscious. I’m sniffing vapor rub like it’s glue, and drinking tea like I’m a dessert camel replenishing its stores.
I’ve downed green juices, slurped chicken soup, and taken turmeric by the capsule. When my husband asks how I’m feeling, I tell him the same thing,
“I think I feel better today.”
But it doesn’t last long, and I’m starting to attribute it to my fleeting coffee-buzz.
I still have to go to work, I can’t call in sick for a head cold now that COVID is over, and because they haven’t invented a robot double I can send in my stead yet. When I get to stay home, I’ve been glued to my couch watching a combination of Gilmore Girls, Superstore, The Rings Of Power, and Kevin Can F*** Himself, which is a show I recommend checking out. I’ve been scrolling Kijiji looking for a new kitten and browsing horses for sale. And I’m indulging in motivational Pinterest quotes because it’s one of the only social media apps left I’m not afraid of besides Substack. When my battery fills up a little, I open up a book, take my dog outside, or get dragged to the city to sit in a Service Canada office so my husband can finally get his passport done.
I’m incredibly tired and as much as I want to work on my mile-long list I can’t, I need to rest.
It’s crazy that I feel guilty doing what my body is asking for instead of all the things I’d like to be doing instead. I haven’t seen my horse in over a week again, even though I’ve had the time, but lacked the energy. The thought of driving or doing anything that doesn’t involve sitting down drains my battery before I’ve even stood up to do it. Thank god for Robbie because washing dishes makes me want to walk into a lake with bricks strapped to me on a good day.
I didn’t want this post to be a neverending complaint, a boo hoo, too bad so sad disgruntled essay on how pissed I am that I’m sick.
I had every intention to thread in a little life lesson about listening to ourselves, and how that can mean flipping off the to-do list for as many days as you need to feel like a human again. But I’m even too tired to do that.
I want to take a nap.
I don’t want to be at work, sweating a little more than usual, stifling coughs while I look at the label on a cropped sweater to find out what it’s made of because that was too strenuous for the customer to do.
I want to go home.
I’m grouchy if you couldn’t tell, and would you look at the time! I have to change my tampon now because being sick wasn’t enough.
I probably won’t wake up at 5 am tomorrow, write 1000 words, eat a healthy meal, and get a workout in before my shift. But if I manage to get out of bed at all, even though that won’t live up to my high AF standards. I think I’ll be able to count it as a successful day.
I mean, if you could zoom out and take a little peak at what this would have been like for me a few years back, you’d see how much of a success getting out of bed, in general, would have been. Let alone giving myself a break for needing naps, and not feeling cripplingly guilty for not pouring what little energy I have into anything aside from getting well.
It’s funny how one day you wake up and have a bad day, but that bad day is still better than some of the good days you used to have, excluding being sick as a factor. That whole not doing enough—productivity = self-worth thing—used to crush me.
The last two weeks I’ve felt drained and miserable, but I still managed to work, keep a semi-good attitude about it (this post doesn’t count), take my dog for walks, cook some meals, write for Substack, read a couple of books, sleep, get a tarot reading, book a reiki session and not hate myself.
That sounds ridiculous, to not hate myself…
Buuut you don’t know twenty-five-year-old me like I do.
Anyway, I hope you don’t get sick, and that if you don’t and things suck anyway, make you angry, or prove to be frustratingly annoying, you find the beauty in being gentle with yourself.
Trust the timing of your life.
Thanks for reading, start taking your Vitamin C,
Rach.
P.S. That was almost 1000 words, and I did manage to turn it into a life lesson. Ugh. Yak.
Oooh yes! I was going to suggest reiki. Tell me about it if you want to share!