I made a crucial mistake when I created a schedule for myself: I based it on what I should be able to do, not what I can do. It kills me to realize that.
As I made the schedule, I kept thinking how absurd it is that I could only spend six hours a day on work or household stuff. Truth is, I’m lucky if I can get three good hours in a day right now. As hard as I try, I’ll never silence my inner overachiever.
I faced some facts last night. I’m in a horrible migraine and headache spell that began on Christmas Eve. I don’t get to decide that four months is long enough and that the migraines should go away now. I expect too much of myself even when I feel terrible. I’m so tired that implementing any treatment that might provide relief takes more energy than I can spare.
There were good revelations too. I don’t think I’m depressed, just tired, sad and frustrated. Purging the stuff from our house makes me feel better emotionally, if not physically. I don’t have to do anything I don’t feel up to doing. I’m thankful that we don’t have kids or even a dog.
I had a great 45 minutes this morning when I saw that it was sunny, bounded out of bed, showered and started this post. That’s all the peppiness I could spare. At least I’ll make a lot of progress on the baby blanket I’m crocheting while I’m watching baseball. And the sun is still shining — after a Seattle winter, literally is almost as good as metaphorically.