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I didn't think that each post would be about the reason I'm late to posting and what new/old fun thing my body throws at me. But here we are. 

Today it is fatigue. 

extreme tiredness, typically resulting from mental or physical exertion or illness.

Jesse and I had a fantastic jaunt to Philadelphia last weekend. We stayed in Old City and ventured around to Fishtown, where we purchased an awesome sewing table; Chinatown, where we ate at a ramen and tea bar...fucking amazing, and Center City, where we devoured scrumptious appetizers and desserts at V-Street (vegan restaurant with many gluten free options...winning). 
We shopped, drank, and savored. We walked, talked, and fucked. It was marvelous. We took detours coming home on Sunday, delighting in ever last drop of the sunshine and the romance. 
We swooped up Max, our handsome 12 lb. dachshund, from my parents' house (seriously the best grandparents in the land), switched to his favorite vehicle (we have 4, it's disgusting and amazing) and went for a drive along the shore. His favorite vehicle, you wonder? That would be a red 1998 Jeep Wrangler. He cries, whines, and begs to be in it the moment it is sunny and warm. It's the most precious thing ever. See for yourself. (Picture ⬇️) 
We dropped him at home and capped off the evening enjoying lovely sushi happy hour sitting on the deck watching the sun set. I relished every drop our weekend immersed in our abnormal adorable love affair.

Was I high? Yes. Was I in pain? Hell Yes. Was I beyond exhausted? Yes. Was I feeling like a "normal" 28 year old human? YES. It was magical. 

Before bed on Sunday I made a plan to wake up at 8 am, go to Starbucks, and write all day Monday. Instead I woke up naked at 1:15 pm, threw a robe on, made myself eggs, yogurt, and a bagel, went back to bed, and watched The Mary Tyler Moore Show until my sister, Sionne FaceTimed me at 4:30. Jesse came home, we made dinner, watched tv, and went to bed around 11. Tuesday was almost an exact repeat of Monday, with a few deviations.  And today I am finally writing. 

That's fatigue. I was supposed to bathe Monday and put new pain patches on. It took me until Tuesday night to have the energy, I vomited twice after...clearly my body was not ready to exert the level needed to relax in hot bubbly water filled with my dead skin cells. I tried to type this Monday,but it made my arms, wrists, and fingers hurt so badly, I had to quit like a caffeine addicted BYU incoming freshmen. 

See...what I left out about last weekend was that after we enjoyed a fun evening out on Friday I couldn't move my gorgeous naked decrepit body to the toilet or bed without guidance and marijuana. I slept in until 10 in the morning on Saturday and had to take a 3 hour nap around 5:30, which Jesse didn't think I would be able to wake up from and go out to dinner. If the delicious restaurants that he had chosen delivered, I would not have suffered the unendurable pain of putting my pants back on at almost 9 pm! 

That's fatigue. I am exhausted to the point of devastation after exerting myself for brief periods of time. When we go on vacation they schedule a rest day after 2-3 days of activity. The first time Jesse and I went away for the week together, I didn't tell him about the rest days. My body took care of that though, I sobbed in the street on the way back from breakfast because I didn't think I would make it the last 100 feet to our hotel. It was real touch and go in the lobby, but perseverance and determination got me to that glorious pillow. (It was actually the embarrassment of possibly collapsing and shitting myself simultaneously, probably not a first for the hotel staff in New Orleans, maybe the first one not influenced by alcohol.)

That's fatigue. But every single day I get out of bed or write this blog or run any errand or even go to the doctor is one day less that I have spent in my bed or on my couch. It may not seem like much to you, but to me it is everything.


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