Yesterday older son and I were talking while driving back from Denver from looking at apartments for him, and we agreed this being dragged around in a vehicle of flesh is a pain in the behind. Because with the drive to Denver and some duties still at the other house (such as being there for handymen and such) we’re netting about viewing an apartment a day.
In fact, he says, the whole apartment thing is a nuisance, because he should be able to just send his mind over to attend classes, of course.
In my case, this is more critical because of course the flesh thing is no longer working all too well, so it keeps giving out on me when I least expect it to.
This is to say that now that we punted back from working in the house 12 hours a day to about 3 hours in the evening, I’m slowly coming up from “stupidly tired.”
And yes we should be done by the end of the week. And the writing should start again today.
BUT I was shocked at how tired I was. How tired? Well, full dose ibuprofen was not DENTING pain. I still wanted to cry every time I moved. I not only couldn’t concentrate on reading a book, I couldn’t stand on listening to a book. And eating stuff with flavor was too much work, so I was living on milk. We came up from this to being able to eat and read comics, and today interest in reading other stuff.
The thing is, I HOPE this is because of the surgery four months ago. I mean, I’m not that old and I was never that bizarrely tired before.
Mind you my doctor told me two months ago I was healed and could live a normal life, but friends who were in the sort of shape I was in and who had the form of surgery I had (well, I actually ended up having both forms) say six months recovery is not unusual and a lot of it manifests as tiredness.
Anyway, what I find amusing and interesting is my mind’s assumption that it’s a separate entity from the body and that it SHOULD be able to overcome the body’s weaknesses just because. It’s not possible, of course, and sometimes the body is VERY annoying. Even if no one sends a rescue party into Plato’s cave.
This is totally not an excuse for a post. It’s a serious thing. But if you need more meat with your Hoyt post, my husband posted about writing today at Mad Genius Club.
And now the writer who is shamelessly typing this in bed is going to contemplate maybe getting up. Or perhaps sleeping another hour.