The Human Rag Doll

by Laura

No, this isn't about our brooke's rag doll Alice,  which she clearly and with certainty named after we picked it up at a yard sale several years ago.  This is about the complete energy-drain brought about by menopause, part of the f*cked-up cycle of insanity that we've been going through to some degree of another since September of 2013. Enough already.

The day after Charity posted her relief about how the brother incident resolved itself,  we had another crappy day.  We don't think it's cause-and-effect; it's more that in a cycle of general chaos, or any cycle for that matter, it has its ups and downs.  Okay day, crappy day, okay day, crappy day.  Or periods thereof.  You get the picture.

So Thursday was crappy, and Friday was better.  Yesterday and today, we're just plain exhausted.  Not the kind of exhaustion that comes from spending 25 years of your life commuting a total of three hours a day to and from a work world that makes you want to check into a padded room for an extended stay.  We've gotten what would normally be enough sleep, and we don't remember dreams, so we've been out like a rock.

The exhaustion of menopause is different.  You feel like a wet rag, like you can't even move, but you know you have to move, because at the very least you have to prevent yourself from doing something that you haven't done since you were two or three years old.  That kind of exhaustion.

It's ruining our life.  Or at least ruining our multiplicity.  How are we supposed to concentrate on what's really important to us, like non-host paradigms or the theories of psycho-emotional yin-yang?  The body may be 52, but none of us is older than 25, and 85 percent of us are under 18.  We don't need this.

Sigh.  Our mother used to call us (me) Sarah Heartburn, a clever-only-to-her twist on a reference to melodramatic actress Sarah Bernhardt, in an attempt to not-so-subtly imply that I was being overly dramatic.  It turned into an ultimately self-fulfilling "I'll show her" prophecy.

So I sit here b*tching and moaning, and I know it's rightfully so, because none of us have any patience for this midlife crap.  It's not just me.  It's all of us, banding together in unison, saying "Enough already."