If you've ever met me in real life, you'll know that I don't like taking "no" for an answer. If I get it in my head that I want to do something, there is very little in the world that will keep me from doing it. I once drank an entire bottle of Johnnie Walker by myself because someone told me they didn't think I could.
...Hey, I never said that all of my choices were good choices. (For the record, I didn't get violently ill until at least an hour after I finished the bottle, and I wasn't hungover the next morning. I was also 21 and invincible.)
Packing up and moving house has been taking a lot of me. (I promise I will stop blogging about moving soon.) The most frustrating thing is that, for the past two weeks, my husband and I have been using my dad's pickup truck to haul things back and forth between houses... every night. I pick the hubsters up from work, we get the truck, go to the old house, put things in storage totes or garbage bags, load up the truck, bring it to the new house, bring the things in, unpack the storage totes, put them back in the truck, and drop the truck off. In the past couple of days, we've added "clean the old house" to that routine.
I can't help but feel as though we'd be done with all of this by now if I could just lift heavier boxes and keep at it for longer than an hour or two. It is extremely frustrating to have to holler at my husband because I can't move something by myself or because I get stuck on the floor and need help getting upright. That's right, I am now such a whale-cow that I sometimes get stuck sitting on the floor and need help getting up. That's not embarrassing or anything.
...and then there are the naps. I'm convinced that, if left to my own devices, my body would attempt to sleep away the next 12 weeks. Very little sleeping actually gets done during these "naps"--I think I'm too exhausted to sleep. I can't have enough caffeine to drug myself into productivity, and I've been entirely unsuccessful at sleeping enough to feel rested.
I was actually talking to my husband about this the the other day, in Best Buy (of all places), while buying tax software (of all things). Lots of pregnant women complain about being tired--even exhausted. I don't like to complain too much about being tired. For starters, it's a sign of weakness and that whole argument goes back to my previous don't-tell-me-I-can't thing. For another thing, I've been exhausted, and compared to that, this tiredness is a cakewalk.
If you've been reading for awhile, you're already aware that I'm
completely charmingly neurotic. What you probably don't know is that I've previously had episodes where it's taken me ten minutes to get out of bed and walk across the hallway to the bathroom because I've been physically incapable of getting my legs to move correctly. That's exhaustion. It's a place that you really don't want to visit, and it can't compare to simply wanting to nap your day away. Melancholic depression makes you want to nap forever, which at that point is totally okay by you because none of your limbs work anyway and you kind of just want to die but can't be bothered to actually put any effort into killing yourself. It's not a fun time.
Still, even if this isn't the most exhausted I've been in my entire life, I'd kill for my old coffee-and-Xanax diet. I'd settle for one of the two, even--if I could just have an entire pot of coffee in the morning to wake me up, or a couple doses of Xanax at night to knock me out, this would be okay. This in-between feeling of being tired and worthless is really doing nothing for me...