I’ve already fulfilled my allotment of one political post per lifetime, so alas, this one will not be political. Even though it’s kinda hard to ignore that elephant (and donkey) in the room this particular week.
Many folks have some strong feelings about how our election and the subsequent results are panning out with counts on counts on counts from coast to coast. Also like many, I’m ready for it all to be over.
I’m ready for the election to be over. I’m ready for the fighting about it to be over. I’m ready for the pandemic to be over. I’m ready for 2020 to be over. I’m ready for the main stage of my disease to be over. I’m ready for my tiredness over it all to be over.
I heard something described on a podcast as “fatigue-fatigue,” and boy do I feel that. Do you?
I’m just tired of being tired. All the time. By everything. The eternal election fallout and new pandemic stats and continuing social distancing and my autoimmune disease and other loved ones also struggling with their health. What a wearisome year. What a wearying paragraph.
With daylight savings ending this week and the sun now setting at like 4:30, the tiredness and sleepiness of an endless night feel altogether amplified. I’m tired and sleepy all day and all evening, yet I can’t fall asleep until 2am. It’s like my heart and brain keep expecting something more each night — something more fruitful, more worthwhile, more invigorating or fulfilling or simply not all of this wearisome junk.
It’s like a necessary package got lost in the mail. And every night after midnight it’s struggling to find its way to the doorstep of my soul.
But no. This is really it. There are no mail-trucks on the road. No packages still on the porch or mistakenly left across the hall. This is all the day has brought us: only packages upon packages of more fatigue-fatigue.
I’m so tired.
And all I can really say on this tiresome night is it’s okay for you to feel tired, too. To scream to the heavens that you want something new to arrive or just some bloody rest.
I’m worn with you.