So I may have mentioned this before, a while ago, maybe? But when Lu was a baby puppy and we just got her (so, the beginning of November), I went through a period of exhaustion. I don’t know if it was the constant broken sleep, if it was me being low in iron, if it was adrenal glands giving up after buying a house, getting married and getting a puppy all within about 3 months of each other, I don’t know. But in any case, I routinely found myself getting home from school (and it was the end of term 4!) and just laying on the couch, zoning out. I remember one Friday afternoon at school, I knelt down to tidy something up on the ground and just… stayed there… I had to use every ounce of my willpower to get up. It wasn’t like your normal Friday “Geez I’m tired and being on the floor is comfortable”, it was more like: “I just… can’t… get up… I truly can’t”. So, it was wonderful. And throughout it all, Nic started to pick up the pieces as I did what I do with the dogs and took energy from training and playing with them and he cooked and made sure life went on and looked after me because I just couldn’t.
And now he’s gone away for 2 and a half weeks and I find myself in an interesting position because I don’t cook any more. I used to cook. I used to really enjoy making new things and being busy. You know that sense of busy-ness, where you’re bustling here and there, and chopping and keeping things hot and stirring and you have so many things going at once but you know where everything is?
That kind of frightens me now. I think this is what I find most daunting about cooking. I hadn’t realised it until I spoke to a colleague today after I’d jokingly “blackmailed” some other colleagues into cooking me dinner by luring them with the final 4 episodes of the season of a show they watch. “I have the episodes, and you’re welcome to watch them… but how about you cook me dinner and we’ll watch them then”. Another colleague is making a curry for her husband and is making extra for me. I’m coming across that pathetically. But truly, when I think about getting into the kitchen nowadays, I feel… crippled. Like, there’s too many things. Like when I was so tired and I could only find energy for the dogs and getting through the day (just) and putting food in my mouth, I closed off all these other ‘unimportant’ parts of my brain, and some of them haven’t come back online. Cooking is one of those. It’s such a strange realisation. Strange and sad, to think I used to have this confidence and energy and now it’s gone, and I don’t know why or where it went, and I’m not sure I could get it back. And maybe it’s just for cooking but I’m not sure if it is.
So in a way, my brain feels sort of… not whole. Unwhole… Holey. It has holes. (I wonder if what’s where the word whole comes from. Without holes -w/hole… whole. )
No. Just found out that it came from “hal” which then seems to have lead into “health” which I suppose makes sense… But I liked my explanation better.
Anyway. Evening 1 of Em Home Alone has gone well. All the animals have been fed, I made myself dinner that wasn’t cereal or toast (win), the dishwasher is on, the 2 youngdogs have gone for a good run and are sleeping, and both of them had some training, too… Mal had a good rest day and he ate a bone, and I didn’t forget to give any of the animals requiring it their required medicines, Loki has been organised for tomorrow when I have to stay at school until 7.30, so I’d say in all, it’s been successful.
That being said, it’s 8.45 and I’m in bed already.
Look out, world, it’s going to be an extreme couple of weeks. I’m out of control.