Weekend Warrior

I’m fucking tired. So tired, in fact, that this blog post is brought to you from my bed with tears running down my eyes. Have you ever been so tired you randomly just started fucking crying because you no longer have the energy needed to control your emotions?

I love when this happens. I feel like a small child. A tantrum can be thrown at any second. A meltdown is just around the corner. And the funnest part? I don’t even know it yet! Something will be said or a thought will pop in to my brain and then the tears start flowing.

The point of this post is this: weekends are fucking chaos.

As a past normie, I completely get it. Weekends used to be me finishing a 40-50 hour work week, craving the heck out of espresso martini’s and some good vibes at a bar, letting the worries of the week go. NOW THE WORRIES START ON THE WEEKEND.

Malcolm is home on the weekend AKA fucking hurricane lover. He is so energetic. He mostly always forgets to turn off his 5am weekday alarm so we usually have the grace and joy of waking up at 5am on a Saturday. If he has turned it off, fuck everything because my body clock now wakes me up at the ripe time of 7am because that’s my daily routine. Good morning Malcolm and your fucking incessant boner. Goodbye quiet life of peace.

My week day routine goes something like this:

7:30 am – drive Malcolm to work

8 am – come home and drink a tea in bed and try not to expend energy

12 pm – nap

2-4 pm – wake up some where in this bracket and do something productive so Malcolm won’t question who he has decided to date forever/live with/love/pay all the rent for the two of us

4:30 pm – Pick up Malcolm from work, go to the dog park, Malcolm works out

6 pm – come home, have dinner, talk, be cute, cuddle

9 pm – bed, yeh soz bud I’m too fucked to fuck sweet dreams goodnight farewell

But on weekends my Chi is so thrown out OMFG. What is pacing on weekends????

Malcolm and I had plans to have a cute af picnic today but we woke up and it was going to rain. This spurred the question “what are we going to do today? We have allllllll day and nothing to do now. What can we do?” NOTHING. WE CAN SIT HERE AND ENJOY THE NOTHINGNESS. I swear like 3/4 of my energy is drained just contemplating “what should we do?” EW getting up EW using energy I don’t have EW being a kind and agreeable human pretending they are not un-endingly tired.

We decided to go to breakfast. Fuck yes! This is a score for me! No energy cooking breakfast! I’m winning this weekend game.

Then we go to the Beef Jerky place, then I see an op-shop and must go in, then we go to Aldi to stock up on useless food we don’t need because I want to still make scones because I am craving them, then it’s raining and almost midday. I couldn’t sleep because I had a pet sitting appointment at 1:30pm.

On weekends I usually allow myself a morning coffee. This is always a mistake but fuck it, I need the energy to be a “good” girlfriend. So I’ve high as fuck pinging off the walls from a good sleep and coffee, so what do I decide to do in my down time? Clean my bathroom, an hour of yoga, tidy everything ever.

It’s then 1:30 and we go to my pet sitting thing. Then I’m like OOOOooooOOO let’s drive around. Then we spent a fuck load of time with me trying to find a perfect red wine FOR NO REASON. Let’s be real… I’m not going to drink the wine, I’m going to fucking sleep. Malcolm, fucking Malcolm, has other idea’s. Because he see’s me buying wine he’s like “let’s have a cute night in – get drunk and fuck.” You mean FUCKING kill me?????????????????????????????????????????????????????? By this point I’m well and truly done. I haven’t had a single tantrum. I’ve spent so much energy being an excited and loving gf. The love is over, fuck this guy. He doesn’t even appreciate the fact that we’ve been out all day and I’ve been excitable and happy and using up all this fucking energy being near another person. I go to lose my shit but I stop. I start to almost cry and break down. He back tracks so fast and is like Oh no no no no we’re not fucking , sorry, no I was being thoughtless, sorry. SO NOW I FEEL EVEN WORSE BECAUSE MY CARING AND KINDEST HUMAN EVER HAS TO FEEL GUILTY FOR SUGGESTING SOMETHING COUPLES DO AND ENJOY? FUCK ME. I’M OUT HERE.

We get home, it’s like 4pm by this stage so I can’t even nap if I want to. Time for another coffee, I think? Didn’t learn the first time hey. Gotta go in for round two of random-burst-of-energy and then crash-and-burn. Malcolm agree’s this is the best idea because napping at 4pm would mean I’d have a disrupted sleep and then I’d feel worse tomorrow.

So yeh, imagine me this tired. Imagine Malcolm continuously telling me how “””””LIT”””””” he feels like getting. Imagine the thoughts of past normie Codii in her hoe ass leather skirt in Prohibition getting fucking loose and making out with all her girlfriends and enjoying it. I can’t even imagine that past life anymore. Basically everything normie Malcolm has said today has just thrown me back to my times of being a normie and it makes me fucking sad.

Malcolm came in to our bedroom before and goes “I’m just so energetic. Like usually I’d be at work all day learning and communicating with patients and now I’ve been at home allllll day doing nothing.” Well fuck me satan, I’m glad you feel like you’ve been at home all day. Because I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck from being out all day. Are we living the same fucking reality? I don’t even know at this point. I’m tired to the point where I’m delusional and dizzy.

Malcolm is trying to be really considerate and leave me alone to rest tonight. He keeps using the term “parallel play”. You do you, I’ll do me. It makes me want to fucking scream. WHY CAN’T WE JUST BE NORMAL AND DO OUR OWN THING. WHY DO I HAVE TO ENTERTAIN YOU? WHY DO YOU 24/7 HAVE TO BE NEAR ME? DON’T TOUCH ME, I’LL CRY. BUT ALSO GIVE ME ATTENTION AND VALIDATE ME AS A GOOD GIRLFRIEND AND PARTNER.

Another thing? We usually go to breakfast and then the markets every Sunday but Malcolm thought we should go to breakfast both days because he’s a fucking sweetiehead. I’m so tired I lowkey go “hey, do you REALLLYYYY think we should go to breaky tomorrow?” trying to entice him in to a big fat “no honey, you sleep in and breakfast will magically appear without you going out  in public where there are loud noises and people existing” but he goes “YEH OF COURSE!” so excitedly. Well, shit. That didn’t go the way I hoped it would HAHAHAA!

This blog really makes him sound like a child and he really is in that innocent and kind hearted but a little too energetic way. He’s the kindest, most generous and loving human to ever grace my presence. Anyone without CFS will just think I’m a massively ungrateful person but Malcolm himself just read this post and goes “wow I never really see it from your perspective until I read your play-by-play on things.” I’m not complaining, I love the asshole more than anything. It’s just that this normie has way too much energy for a sleepy eggplant.

I always feel mildly guilty I can’t be this carefree, energetic person who wants to go on hiking adventures and fuck in the woods. I don’t randomly ever get the urge to just walk in to his office naked and fuck his brains out. I don’t ever see a day where I’ll ever, of my own accord, think I’ve spent all day at home when I’ve been out all day. I’ll never get to consider a day of resting as a day “doing nothing.” My reality is just so different to someone who is not chronically ill. When I’m alone in my own little bubble on weekdays I totally forget. My truth and my reality are mine and that’s okay.

On weekends it’s a little harder to live my reality when all I want to do is “get drunk and fuck”, using the words of a certain energetic loveboi but my reality is cry a little, make Malcolm kiss my forehead, drink a sip of wine and call it a night.

Here’s to me raiding the fucking spoon factory for some spoons to get through Sunday, oh my lord.

 

 

 

 

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