I’m breathing too heavily. The ground seems stable, as it’s really my feet that make the earth twist and writhe today. There’s a weight on my neck from my head, and a head loaded with sandbags. My goal for today is to make it across that block.
Even with the brick building’s support, each step becomes cautious and not unlike a fish’s first time on land. The headache makes me want to close my eyes.
Okay, think, think of something. That should distract you today. Whatever you do, don’t listen to that sage in that tie and try to become ‘aware’ of how your body feels- that just reminds you how terrible it is.
Time to make a promise? Ok, sure. Buddy, you don’t have to do your homework today. You’ve struggled enough as it is, wanting to drop after the marathon of half a windy block. Just use the computer to stay awake- napping throws the day into a blender- until you can take the sleep medicine. You can wiggle your way out of other promises you made in the state of faux energy, just like always.
Maybe stress is where the problem comes from. Nearly all of my family is convinced that it’s no longer chronic fatigue, the last diagnosis thrown to us from the last doctor, but that it’s stress instead. But that always seems to follow becoming lifeless to all. Feel the headaches, fatigue, and chills; get stressed; feel worse. Stress doesn’t help, but summer won’t cure this.
Time’s really flown by, I’m nearly at the end. The insides of my muscles are jelly.
Did I eat something to cause this? I run through the list- searching for traces of gluten, dairy, corn, sugar, or food coloring- and nothing seems to jump out. Salted peanuts can’t possibly be it. Unless it was made on the same conveyor belt as chocolate or something, but the back of the package would’ve told me if it did.
I need to make a promise to myself that I won’t reward myself with gluten again. It seems pointless to avoid it, since any road I take nowadays leads to lead eyes and unclear, unfocused sleep. For me, the only difference between it and alcohol is legality for someone my age. I guess if beer could be purchased easily, I’d have lost myself a long time ago. I’ve failed myself in that regard.
The block’s ended. Only an uncountable number left until home.