afjkndghkjfghasjzxcnbbnlkp
N O T I C E : : m e m o r y _ s t r e a m _ l o c a t e d
I D : : c h r o n i c _ f a t i g u e _ s y n d r o m e
T Y P E: : E X P E R I E N T I A L
The time of week had come to wash my hair.
It took just a little under two hours, all in all. Half an hour to untangle and unthread my feathers until they were separate enough that running a brush through them wouldn't pull any, forty five minutes to actually wash them, and another half hour to dry them off and apply the various moisturisers and other creams I needed in order to stop my skin from falling apart afterwards.
By the time I sat down at my computer, I could scarcely move or even think. My first and only action was to put some music on, then I fell entirely still; my eyes closing of their own accord. My body felt unpleasantly heavy, almost like being sick. I was breathing, slowly and steadily, but it felt laboured. I couldn't even imagine doing anything like that. I noticed that my throat was dry, and my water glass was within arm's reach, but I couldn't muster the energy to reach out and grab it. Even something as simple as that felt impossible in the moment.
My eyes flicked to the packet of caffeine and glucose pills sat on my desk. I knew if I took a couple of those, this would be over faster; but the problem was that I'd have to actually reach out and grab the packet- which was also beyond me. And so there I sat, motionless, for nearly five entire minutes until I eventually mustered the strength to grab my water glass and the pill packet.
This shit... is so ridiculous, I thought, my internal voice reflecting my external state.
How the fuck can just washing my hair... be so void-blasted tiring?
It occurred to me that I probably wouldn't call myself 'not really disabled' nearly so often if I was better at
remembering these moments.
afjkndghkjfgvhxasjzxcnbbnlkp
N O T I C E : : m e m o r y _ s t r e a m _ t e r m i n a t e d
