What Kind of Idiot?

I just want to tell you that things have not been going as planned lately. It seems that the cosmos has things in store for me that I wouldn't have chosen for myself.

Let me reassure you that I don't have blue hair (currently) but I do have a hair story.  Silly me thought that I could go and pick up my prescriptions before getting my hair colored the other day.  Plus the appointment was at 1:30.  Dicey time for me.  Approaching the daily melt down when I need to be near my bed. I was sitting in the chair, hair full of dye when it descended:  The Walking Dead Wipeout.   I ended up begging the receptionist to go and rip my hairdresser back from her lunch break to wash that wicked stuff out of my hair.  No cut.  No blow-dry. Said yes to the purchase of yet-another no-frizz product.  Like an idiot, I emptied the contents of my wallet, gave it to her, and walked out of that salon.

Idiot.

I have a plant story too.  I have been fascinated with forest bathing and wanted to bring some more plants into my home.   Now plants are about the only thing you can't order online, although I have ordered live bamboo sticks from Amazon.  (And in retrospect I guess I could have called 1-800-FLOWERS and sent a plant to myself.)  But instead I thought, "What kind of idiot can't drive to the adjacent town and go into a green house, pick out a plant and leave?"


What kind of idiot?

 Guess.

I was such a mess in that hot, humid greenhouse I wanted to die. I snatched up a plant so quickly, I don't know its name, whether it needs sun or shade, or how much to water it.  I just know it's green and will exude all sorts of good things into my air.

And I have a tree story too. . .

And a pool story. . .

OH, how is it that I have to readjust my life once again?  Is it truly possible that I can't even do the little things anymore?


Someone bring me back from this!

Sjogren's Fatigue

Yesterday I read a post on the Sjogren's Syndrome Foundation blog entitled 13 Types of Sjogren's Fatigue.  It was a well-written attempt to categorize and explain the fatigue associated with this disease.

Now I may not be as erudite or informative as the author of that article, but I thought I'd give voice to a few more of my own:

The Oh No, I’m Awake! Tiredness – This is the one I face each and every morning.  Sleep?  Did I really sleep?  I know I spent time in my bed, because I distinctly remember waking up about 25 times throughout the night but the word “rested” somehow just doesn’t seem to apply.

The Bone Tired Fatigue – This is the one that comes from dealing with joint and muscle pain.  All of that ouch-ing drains my energy and makes getting from here to there a feat of great proportions.

The Lead Foot Weariness – Having a lead foot usually refers to one who has the propensity to drive fast, but there is nothing fast about this.  It feels like something or someone, is literally weighing me down – forcing me to move in slow motion.

The All-But-Surgically-Attached-to-My-Bed Sleepiness – These are the days when I just can’t wake up; when my children or husband try to rouse me from my bed.  I respond and tell them I’ll be up shortly, and drop back into a d-e-e-p sleep within seconds; unable to move from the bed.

The I Emptied Half of the Dishwasher and Need to Rest Exhaustion (a.k.a. I Just Took a Shower Fatigue) – All of that up-and-down with my arms, spine, and head.  Exhausting.  This particular fatigue is somewhat akin to the I Vacuumed the Living Room Depletion – sucks the life right out of me.

The In Your Face Fatigue – This is the one that brings cobwebs to your brain, glassiness to your eyes, and a sense that you are already asleep to your very face.  I have no choice but to surrender to this one – for where the head goes, the body must follow.

And then my friends, there is the BIG one:

The Walking Dead Wipeout – This is the one that descends in a heartbeat and drops me to my knees.  This fatigue begins by turning my leg muscles to rubber, spreads by squeezing the life-sustaining air out of my lungs, and completes the wipeout by leaving me with a blank facial affect and a brain which can only think of three little words in one specific order:

Must.

Lie.

Down.

Okay, I count seven types of fatigue I deal with.   They may not be the Lucky 13 the other author referred to, but they're the ones I call my own!