I’m in the stage before I start to get sick where I’m still able to function but where day to day tasks start to get increasingly more difficult. The storm is brewing, dark still clouds over head, but I still have time to board up the windows.
I never know if I’m being dramatic or just lazy when I get like this, so I try to fight through the exhaustion, put off buying wood for the windows, go a few days to see if it’s really going to be bad, I try to be strong, until I realize that’s just stupid.
I start to notice when I get home from work with this overwhelming exhaustion, where nothing looks better than crawling into my bed and just sleeping through dinner. But, a girl’s gotta eat, so I labor through dinner, my eyes heavy, willing my body to make it through a few more hours. Then I watch as the dishes pile up, the mess piles on the kitchen counter, and what little energy I had to cook dinner is simply gone. So the dishes are left for another day. When the alarm goes off, I feel like I never fell asleep, my lungs are hard, my body aches. I force myself to awaken, to get through one more work day. I start to cough more, a tight sickly cough, and when people comment I just say “no I’m not sick.. I’m always coughing.” And when the third person asks if I’m alright, I’m not acting like myself, I surrender. Unless I want this to turn into a huge infection, I better jump on it. The doctor is called. The medicine is prescribed. The sick day is taken, so that I can turn off the alarm clock, sleep the day away, and give my body the freedom to just recover and fight those nasty bugs in my lungs. I allow myself to be “lazy” and know that this is what my body needs, to not be pushed to its limit. So that, in the end, hopefully there will be no storm, it will veer off the coast in a different path because I didn’t give it enough steam to make landfall. Maybe.