I struggle to accept that a mere 5 hours of strain can throw me into a two-day loss.

Scheduled to leave care-giving at Mom’s yesterday morning and head home for a 30-hour break, a betta fish named Buster threw a wrench in the works. We’d already lost one fish recently, and Buster showed up with “pop-eye” Monday morning.

Dammit.

Thus ensued a flurry of online research, purchases at the pet store, and an aquarium deep clean – none of which held space on the brand-new dry erase activity calendar that Mom and I had initiated.

Yesterday morning stretched into afternoon as I squeezed in the usual to-do list of caregiving before I could leave. By the time I got home all I could do was collapse into the recliner, and I intended to fall asleep by 8pm. And sleep right there.

I couldn’t sleep at all. Finally at midnight I got up and cleared the drop-and-run detritus off the bed, hoping that would work. It didn’t.

So I’ve spent most of my wakeful day agonizing over what a lousy job I’m doing of recovering from an unexpected task. That’s not a restful way to recover. I’m hoping the pizza and beer will wipe that psychological slate clean long enough for me to sleep well tonight.

Because we have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow afternoon.

Sharing this for the sole purpose of sending an “I feel ya” to those out there who also struggle with sensory issues, responsibility overload, masking, Autism, mental health issues, etc. It seems I need to get hit in the head almost daily before I can develop a healthy habit of self-care.

I feel ya.