I’ve been a bit absent from this blog these last two weeks as I have got in to a nasty little habit of pushing too hard and then crashing. And when I crash, I crash hard and don’t get out of bed, don’t eat, don’t move, sweat through my clothes and in between epic naps lie facedown on my pillow slobbering and hating life – it’s not pretty. I go through stages of doing this and then get sensible and stop but it always happens again.

Don’t worry this isn’t going to be a pity post, I’ve already done a cathartic rant on to the computer that is certainly not for public viewing, it’s just an explanation to myself. Because what did I do these last two weeks? I socialised. What a rebel! At one point for three days in a row… Ahah, I see the problem.

I’ve tried to write this a few times the past week but the thing with crashing this hard with fatigue is that it lingers on and on. On Sunday I was so pale it looked like I was in a 3D movie the way my freckles popped, whereas today I look fine but am still feeling wobbly, not too bad… Then I try and do something as outlandish as translate my thoughts to words on a screen and the brain fog descends. I’m having a break now after three paragraphs!

Ok, so what’s so hard about all this? Isn’t it good that I at least got to see people and have fun? Well, yes, but there’s got to be a better way to go about this without drooling in to my pillow for the day, too tired to get up to get a drink of water…

So what’s the problem? The problem is I love seeing my friends. I love being out of the house and in real clothes and going to fun cafes and restaurants and shows and talking to those other than my family. So I get excited, I get on a social high, I talk way too fast and my face flushes as I’m having such a good time but I’m totally ignoring the coded signals my body is sending me. Why? Because I don’t want to be sick. I don’t want to have to go home now and have a nap, I’m 27 for god’s sake. So I ignore it. I sit there having lunch with my friend who just got back from 18 months in England and we talk and talk and have so much fun and I remember why this girl is such a great friend and all that drowns out the problem that I’m struggling to follow the conversation (it’s like I’m in a dodgy movie download where the sound is slightly off). I ignore the headache I can feel approaching. I cross and recross my legs as my muscles start protesting, be quiet, I’m having fun. I decide it’s just hot in the sun and that’s why I’ve sweated through my top. Or maybe it’s really cold and that’s why I need to put my jumper back on on a 28 degree November day. Or maybe I should listen to all this signals and get myself home. I should really get myself out of there before all these symptoms appear. I crawl into bed once I’m home and sleep for the afternoon, which then in turns mucks up my sleep that night and the whole cycle continues.

Then I feel ok again, so I have the friend who just got back from England over for dinner with her boyfriend as well as a third friend. It’s excellent fun but there is no point in the conversation where someone is actually silent. Ok, I wave goodbye, thank them for coming, smile at the fun night but know the next day will be painful. So what do I do? I bum around all morning resting and feeling wobbly but then by lunchtime I’ve come good. Brilliant. A friend is driving past the farm on her way down to the coast so I ask her for dinner too. I cook and we talk and catch up and it’s great and she heads off and I go to bed. Excellent.

Well, Saturday morning dawns and I realise I’m not up to driving myself to the train station to go to Melbourne. Ok, I’ll be sensible, Dad can you drive me? I am seeing the musical Once with my friend Cass and we have established a brilliant theatre tradition of a fancy lunch before a matinee so I can hop on the train and be back in bed before the sun dies down.

I’ll be ok, right? Home before sunset and bright eyed and bushy tailed? Hmmm…

The problem is I’ve socialised the last two nights… but I’ll be ok. I’ll listen to calming music on the train, I’ll get a tram to take me up to the other end of the city and I’ll be ok.

“This is the last stop, this tram is diverting blah blah”. Apparently Santa’s Grand Arrival on the Bourke St Mall has been scheduled for the same morning as my theatre date. Grr. I disembark from the tram and read the bulletin – no trams going west-east this morning due to Santa’s Grand Arrival. Fuck Santa. I walk the block down to Collins St. No trams there either. Not because of Santa, but because some fool thought it an appropriate time to dig up the asphalt. Great. I end up walking four blocks before I can get back on a tram heading the right way. Did I mention I’m not good at exercising any more, it makes me tired? I’m already tired.

Whatever, best laid plans and all I make it to the restaurant and there is Cass. We have a fabulous lunch and the show is brilliant and I ignore the fact I can’t sit still in my chair as my muscles are hurting so much. I say goodbye to Cass and mention how fun it was, “I’m wrecked but it was worth it” then I taxi to the station – Santa won’t mess with me this time – and hop on my train, which of course is delayed.

And, as anticipated, Sunday morning does not greet me kindly and I’m in bed for most of the day moaning and drooling and sweating and hating the world and asking myself why did I do this to myself?

So, what do I do differently from now? Well, a rest day wouldn’t be a bad idea and so would some limitations. I could behave like a haughty maître d’ and kick my friends out when I’ve been happy for too long or I could ask them over and politely say, I won’t want you to go but I’ll need you to leave by 8.30pm. That would work. Getting public transport to behave might be slightly more difficult.