Nope, Can’t Do It All

I can’t do it all. I can’t even do most of it. I am trying so hard to figure out how to make that work. 

The Atlantic’s long covid coverage is really good; a key observation for me was that people who are depressed don’t want to do anything, but people with chronic fatigue have a whole long list. It’s not that I’m too depressed to do things. I am sad because I can’t.

My brain doesn’t want to hold on to anything, so I’ve outsourced short-term memory and scheduling to my phone. I keep rearranging the lists to make more of the things happen, but it’s not working. Naaatch.

“No social media before breakfast” keeps me from doomscrolling. But writing is the easiest way for me to communicate, and the socials keep me connected with friends and family. Not to mention the news.

Actually seeing friends, on the other hand, is … really hard. I have trouble coming up with words and shaping sentences. Listening is even harder. I’m working so hard to remember what someone is saying that I miss the next thing, or I’ve forgotten some crucial part and I can’t understand what comes next. Group conversations? Forget it. 

When I write, I can go back and edit. I can google* to try to find a word. And man, I have been giving google a workout.

Exercise makes me feel better, as long as I do it carefully, with plenty of rest after every set. This means that a weight workout takes an hour and a half. Before Covid Me alternated arms and legs and finished in 20 minutes. 

Yoga also make me feel better, because that bike crash (the bad one, in 2017) left me with a damaged spine and hip, and pain that makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning. 

Walking Stella is good for me physically, though it tires me, and having her in the house keeps the deep dark black pit a lot farther away.

All the balance exercises, eye exercises, smell training, music, meds, and supplements are supposed to heal my brain. But if I did them all every day, I would have no time left to rest. If I don’t rest, I crash. If I crash, it takes anywhere from days to weeks before I recover. 

Plus, you know, I just got married, and I’d REALLY like to be a half-decent wife and at least clean the kitchen after Catherine makes us fabulous meals, maybe do some laundry, keep the place a little tidy.

So I’m at a loss. 

My newest strategy: A little is better than none. Just one eye and balance exercise every day, instead of all ten or so, mornings and evenings. A set of squats, a couple stretches. 

That might leave me time for half an hour of email triage and 45 minutes of academic writing, which is all I have the energy for anyway. Somehow, I have to find a way to be okay with that, and try to avoid asking the universe if this is going to be the rest of my life.

Any ideas? Do let me know.

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* Actually I have switched to Ecosia, which promises not to sell my data and to plant trees every time I use their browser. Because yeah, I AM still a tree-hugger.