So. Mr Beloved picked up this delightful lurgy at the doctors on the 4th – and here it is the TWENTY FRIGGIN’ SIXTH and we’re still crook. He’s 24 hours ahead of me, and he had to spend yesterday back in bed (when he wasn’t coughing up grot) and I feel like I might have to go back to bed today. Grrrrr.
You might think “Gahhhhhd, why is she WHINGING, she gets to go back to bed, it’s not like she has a JOB or a LIFE” …well, yeah. And if you think not having a job is a bed of frickin’ roses, then have I got news for you. If you think needing to sleep for a minimum of 10 hours is a luxury – it’s not, it’s a pain in the arse. If you think living with not just the chronic pain and fatigue of fibromyalgia but also with Bipolar Disorder and the fear of “am I going to have a shitty mood swingy day and go manic and do things that are BAD” would be preferable to working, then I’m here to tell you – IT ISN’T.
I hate being broke. I hate not having the energy to do more than the most necessary things – cooking at least one meal a day, keeping up with the laundry, having a shower (most days), washing the dishes, trying to vacuum at least once a week – there’s no spare energy for cleaning accumulated grottiness. When I can sit up and draw, yep, that’s good, it takes my mind off the pain and gives me a break for an hour or two.
But if I have to go do the groceries and a library run, then that takes pretty much all my energy for the day. There’s none left for drawing or extra cleaning.
I’m off to the GP tomorrow. I think I’ll wear a mask because I don’t want to pick up whatever the NEXT lurgy lying around is. And that GP visit combined with a quick grocery run will probably take up all my energy for the day.
AND I AM SO SICK AND TIRED OF BEING SICK AND TIRED.