It's Saturday and it was supposed to be a fun and relaxed day. We had planned to go to our town's St Patrick's Day parade - an annual event enjoyed by 50,000 friends and neighbors. There was a shift in plans and I suddenly became overwhelmed with everything I haven't gotten done and everything I needed to do. I had a bit of a meltdown and a short but emotion-filled pity party, complete with tears and proclamations that I hate my life and everything about it. That's not exactly true - I don't hate my life at all - but there are days I hate fibro with a fiery, screaming passion. Today was one of those days - but we did get to the parade.
I have had my fill of wasted days and lists of things that need to be done that don't. I'm tired of the reminders on my desk, my kitchen counter and my messy closet that I never have enough time or energy to do what I need to do. I feel like instead of having a seven-day week, I'm lucky if I can squeak out four decent days when something gets accomplished, including going to work. Today I was mourning the loss of all things routine and mundane because everything to me is a weighted choice. Many times it's an either or because I don't have the stamina to do it all. I've been making my choices based on what I want to do rather than what I need to do because I only have energy for one or the other. But it's really not that I only want to do fun things and not the regular every-day take care of the house stuff.
I like having a tidy home and I don't mind doing the work it takes to accomplish that. I love to cook for family and friends and I don't mind doing the laundry or putting away the groceries. Not at all. It's just that each day I feel like I get forced into leaving some things behind and then all of a sudden it all catches up with me. My pity-party this morning took me by surprise, but I think it's been building up for a while. A good cry can be a cleansing and I felt better after pouring out my troubles and seeing them in a new light. The world will not come to a screeching halt if I don't get everything done. A disorganized closet is not a crime. Having fibro isn't easy and I can allow myself an occasional tantrum to vent my displeasure. I didn't ask for this and I don't want it. But here I am with it. I can adjust and I do. But I don't have to like it.
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