I woke up today and looked at my phone, like I do every morning. Except it wasn’t morning. It was past 2pm, and I was very confused. Usually, I remember waking up, then deciding to go back to sleep–especially on a day I don’t have to work. Today, my body made that decision for me.
My work day ends at 6:30pm. It’s not enough time to catch the bus which leaves at 6:31, but it’s enough to do errands and catch the bus which leaves at 7:01. Last night, I had to pick up my prescriptions and also stock up on groceries, which has only become a more difficult challenge as the pandemic wears on. I have cooking fatigue, eating fatigue, and decision fatigue, all wrapped up into an anxious, indecisive ball, and I missed the bus home.
It’s not a long walk. I’ve had this job for 6 years, and I moved into this apartment only a few months after I started, and one of the best things about it is that I can walk to work. But since March, I’ve probably walked home (I get a ride twice a week with a student who is also a neighbour) less than a dozen times. I have walking fatigue, too, because I’m out of practice.
So I carried my groceries home last night, and I needed to rest before I could cook dinner, and then I didn’t sleep until at 3am, but it could’ve been later than that. That’s just the time I remember seeing. Then I woke up at 2pm, the sun went down at 4pm, and now it’s 11pm, and I’ll be up for a few more hours. At least I’m writing?
It’s going to be years until I recover from 2020.