Lazy Week

It's been the best of weeks... as far as reading goes. I read about 8 books in the last 8 days, and while Twilight was okay but utterly mundane as far as books go, and Dead and Gone was a fun new romp in Sookie's very different world, I utterly enjoyed American Wife and began to feel a lot more sympathy for our former first lady (even though the plot of the story is fiction, some of its structure is strongly emphasized by Laura Bush's biography). I was also touched by the sadness, fear, and self-loathing in Revolutionary Road.

It's been the worst of weeks (or at least, not that great) as far as exercise goes. My run earlier in the week was hard, and the run I took Thursday was even worse. I wasn't feeling as run down, and even was working into a good groove, when pain in the front of my leg, near my ankle, caused each step to be more painful, so I ended 2.5 miles running and biked on the stationary cycle for about 3 miles. Today I ran 2 laps around the neighborhood, about 1.6 miles.

This week has been a challenge in other ways as well. I have felt the weight of my exhaustion this week more than usual, which is odd, because I am sleeping better than I have in a long time. I'm falling asleep more easily at night, not waking up as often at 3 or 4 am, and having an easier time getting back to sleep in the early morning when I do.

This in part is because I'm back in my nice, wonderful mattress instead of the Baker's 40-yr-old saggy baggy mattress which used to hurt my back, but now that I'm getting close to an average of 7-8 restful hours a night, why am I still so tired?

My exhaustion is like a heavy coat, I carry it around with me every day, uncomfortably lugging its weight. It makes me feel slower, think slower, move more slowly, read more slowly. Sex seems beyond an abstract thought (I can't sit in bed in the dark without falling asleep), and it's difficult for me to move myself to do much that doesn't involve lying on the couch.

I understand that a week of sleeping, napping, and lying around is not uncalled for in a busy life, I'm just concerned I need so much of it and feel worried that no one is taking me too seriously yet. The Baker kindly says, aren't I just getting older? Haven't the doctors suggested that I'm just getting older?

Most of the time I know that it's more than that, but occasionally those questions make me doubt myself. That would be even worse, though. If this is how run down I feel at thirty, I can't imagine lasting much longer than a few more years before needing to park myself in a rest home permanently.