I’m so tired

I’m not sure if this will be a “Monday Musings” post or a “Rants” post but here we go… I’m not tired as in “I need a nap” (although….). I’m tired of …. well, some of it’s bullshittery, some of it’s fuckery, some of it’s pigheadedness. Here’s a top ten list of things I’m currently tired of.

I’m tired of being sick. I’ve been sick since mid-May, and it’s really getting fucking old. I don’t have energy. I don’t have strength. I don’t have stamina. And it’s a Catch-22; if I don’t exercise, I’m not going to get back to where I was, but I don’t have the energy or lung capacity to exercise. Shit, it’s taken me three days to clean up my office because I have to keep sitting down after I move some furniture or a couple of boxes! I get it. I’ve been sick. REALLY sick. Septicemia is not a joke, I could have died. People die from it all the time – 45% of the people who go to the hospital for it (or get it when in the hospital from something else), die from it while they are in the hospital. After that I got Covid, which I likely wouldn’t have gotten if my immune system wasn’t so compromised from the Sepsis. And so now I’m recovering from BOTH. So I get that I should be nowhere near 100%. But damn, couldn’t I at least be close to 90%? I’ve been thinking about GLAM lately and fucked if I’m going to have the strength to load up my car, let alone unload, set up, spend the day, and load up again. Fuuuuuuuuuck.

I’m tired of being afraid to speak up. Which means I’m loving things like people on the Democratic ticket calling out MAGA Republicans on being weird. Things like that are inspiring me to talk back to people on Facebook, handing them facts and links to those facts when they spew ridiculous lies. Am I afraid they’re going to threaten me? Well, since I’ve been threatened on Goodreads for pointing out a discarded plot point in a book I read once, I’m guessing that yes, they’ll threaten me. But you know what? If I go down while defending People of Color, or my Queer friends, or what is actually happening thanks to Science, then that’s how I go. Put “Silenced for speaking up for what’s right” on my gravestone and carry on.

I’m tired of streaming services raising prices but cancelling shows. Like, seriously, all I want to watch are old shows from the 70s and 80s. Why get involved in a whole new show that’s got a good chance of being cancelled after it’s eight episode first season? I don’t even have all the streaming channels right now because fuck it, there are too many. The ones I do have, I have the lowest tier for; the one that is the cheapest and includes ads… and they’re STILL raising the prices on those. I’d fuckin’ go back to cable/satellite TV except those are like 500 channels with only three that I actually want to watch. I’m definitely not paying over a hundred dollars a month to ignore 247 religious channels and/or ghostbusting… even if I do want that one channel that seemingly just plays Twister on repeat. Cow!

I’m tired of my neighbor’s dog. The dog itself doesn’t bother me, directly; it runs if I come near it, it doesn’t threaten any of my colony cats, it doesn’t seem to be digging up and eating any gopher tortoises. But. My dogs go absolutely bananas whenever it’s around. Barking rachets up to eleven… they act like they’re going to jump the fence… and of course my PTSD about dog fights activates and I’m afraid that like Corwin and Lindy, Honey and Peppa will start fighting each other if they can’t get to that dog. If I could get the dog to come near me at all I would absolutely take it to the pound, if OwnerDude isn’t going to put in a fence. I don’t want to have to fence my entire fifteen acres, but damn. This is getting really, really old.

I’m tired of being … I don’t even know the right word. Misunderstood? Mistaken? Misread? Told I’m not “right” by people who aren’t taking the time to hear me? I keep trying to remind myself that these people are wrapped up in their own things as well, and that the traumas (big and small) in their own lives color their thinking. Things I’ve been told recently include me being the most depressed and negative person someone has ever met, that I should be over grieving by now (MULTIPLE people have told me this), that I’m not a reliable friend, that I’m not there for my friends the way they are there for me, that I lean on people too much (bonus points for this one because the person who told me this had also told me that I could tell them anything, any time, and always talk to them), and that I’m not supportive in the right way. I guess I am not coherent at explaining that being willing to take feelings out into the light and talk about them doesn’t make someone depressed and negative (it makes them self-aware!) or that being run down and sick (and tired!) and not having energy leaches into all aspects of life, not just physical abilities. I barely have the energy to unload the car from a trip to Sams right now, let alone get really angry with someone about something.

I’m tired of my easiest-to-get-to grocery stores. I miss Publix. I miss living a four minute drive to a Publix. I miss living a four minute drive from any grocery store! Although this acreage has many more things going for it so it’s all relative. But I do dread having to ever go into Hitchcock’s. Moldy fruit. Milk past it’s sell-by date. Eleven pound cans of pre-cooked collard greens. Y’all. All I want is some fresh fruit and vegetables and a good selection of mushrooms within easy reach. And creamer for my coffee that isn’t past the sell-by date.

Do you know what? I got so frustrated about not having fresh fruit in the house that when I just now took a break to run some orders up to the post office, I stopped by a little roadside stand I’d seen previously to see if they were open on Mondays. They were. I spent $15. I plan to go back next Monday as well because as I was leaving I saw they had tangerines.

I’m tired of having lists of things to do that I never get to. Putting the tin on Troublesome’s catio roof so that he’s better protected from the rain. Deciding what to do with Cetty and Joe’s pond. Deciding what to do with Tim’s falling-down fence. Getting all the loose magazines in one place and seeing who takes donated National Geographics any more. Going through my fucking mail!!!

I’m tired of always feeling behind, or like I’m not doing enough. I’m never finished with things around the house. I’m never finished with things at work. Should I stop taking care of things in the house so I can get everything done at work? Should I stop working so I can get everything done around the house? SURELY I USED TO BE A FULLY FUNCTIONAL PERSON WHO COULD BALANCE BOTH WORK AND HOME LIFE oh, wait, yes, I was, but I didn’t work for myself, then. I worked for someone else and could (mostly) leave the job at work when I came home. No, I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want to do anything else other than what I’m doing now. But I sure could use a few weeks with some kind of personal assistant/organizer.

I’m tired of doom boxes/piles of stuff everywhere that I never have time to deal with. This really kind of ties in with the other two things above – I have things I never get to (like mail and magazines) or clearing off a flat surface or piles of “I will get to this by the end of the week holy shit it’s three weeks later” so when cleaning I sweep it all into a box. I’d heard them called “doom boxes” and I love that because boy howdy do I sense an impending feeling of doom when I look at them. But lately I’ve heard them called “DOOM” as in Didn’t Organize, Only Moved and I don’t know what but I don’t like that as much. DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM. Like the DoomBuggies in the Haunted Mansion. Only boxes. Anyway. Going through my Doom Boxes is yet another thing that’s on my list that I never get to, that makes me feel like I’m falling behind or not doing enough.

I’m tired of my dead husband’s truck in my front yard. Sorry, Tim, but I am. I didn’t like that truck THE DAY YOU BOUGHT IT AND IT WAS SUCH A PIECE OF SHIT IT WOULDN’T DRIVE OFF THE LOT. You had to get it towed to a repair shop and get it worked on, but you were so proud because even with paying to get it worked on it was still cheaper than what you had budgeted, and it had an eight-foot bed and that was the thing you needed. But Truckenstein died before you did, and you still didn’t want to get rid of it. I’ve long since turned in the tag and cancelled the insurance, and while your brother mentions coming to get it every now and then, mostly, it’s just… a giant ornament in my yard that I see every time I look out my bedroom window. Or out the kitchen window. Or look on the front yard security camera. Or get in my car. Or come home. Or walk in the front yard at all. Seeing Truckenstein (even though that’s the best name for a car, ever) makes me so tired, and feel so heavy.

On a lighter note… I am not, as the song goes, tired of being admired.

The end. Peace out, y’all. xoxo