I think that is part of the exhaustion - parenting two teenagers, one of whom is on the edge of adulthood and the other who is in the whiny, emotional stage of adolescence. They eat....a lot. A bag of Doritos has no hope of surviving longer than two hours after I buy them. I have to hide things I want to eat or they will devour them like hyenas devouring a zebra carcass on the Serengeti. Sometimes I even swear I hear them growl if I get too close to them while they are gorging on a box of Chicken in a Biskit crackers. I envy them a bit. If I tried to eat Chicken in a Biskit crackers, which have enough salt in them to make the Dead Sea feel jealous, my ankles would swell up until they poured over the top of my socks like twin rogue blobs trying to slink off under my feet.
The fatigue has been a constant companion for years now. I awake with it each morning, it rides on my back all day, settling in behind my eyes by late morning, slowly sliding down through the rest of my body as the day progresses. By the time it's time to make dinner, my arms feel like they are encased in concrete, my head like a bowling ball lolling around atop my toothpick neck. I try to fix easy meals, things that I can toss in the crock-pot in the morning or things I can throw on the George Foreman grill and serve after 4 minutes. Or I'll make a lasagna or a casserole that I can serve up as leftovers for another meal for the kids and for lunches for me throughout the week. But lately, just making tacos seems like trying to run a marathon with a bag of bricks strapped to my back. My kids love tacos in a bag. I buy the single-serving sized bags of Doritos and shovel the seasoned meat in the bags on top of the chips, toss in some cheese, sour cream, hot sauce, and rice, and dinner is done. I don't eat with my kids anymore. I'm too tired by the time I serve them their plates to actually eat. Instead, I listen to them go over their school day, their homework, their social encounters as I wash the pots and pans, put away the leftovers, and wipe down the counters. By the time they hand me their empty plates, I have just enough energy left to rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher before I roll down the hallway and drag my exhausted carcass into my bed, still in my clothes from the day, too tired to put on my pajamas. I often doze off, face down across my bed, legs dangling off the edge, too tired to pull my legs onto the bed and turn myself so I am laying properly with my head on my pillow. When my eyelids flutter open, several hours have passed, and I have to take my medications, give my son his, and get into my pajamas. Every movement is like moving through syrup.
The fatigue is accompanied by a pernicious little fellow called "fear". With the elections coming up next week, it's frightening to think what could happen if one party gains total control over the whole shebang. Every day, I read stories like that told in the link below, where governors pandering to their wealthy benefactors steal services from the most vulnerable people they serve in order to give massive tax cuts to their elitist buddies. And it's happening across the nation, in states, in cities, in Washington. It's hard not to feel a sense of defeat, and harder still to quell the roiling shadow of doom that hovers over my head.
http://thinkprogress.org/election/2014/10/27/3584600/kansas-governor-tax-cuts-disabled/
Do any of us really stand a chance when we are facing Goliath? Are we strong enough to step into David's shoes and fight back? I fear we are not, but if I am going to have to go fight Goliath, I'm going to need a nap first, and a big box of Chickin in a Biskit to nibble on the way - maybe my swollen ankles would be enough to scare the monster to death.
