A Spork in the Road

I discovered fatigue last night. Not that I haven’t had days where I felt tired, but this was the first time I appreciated the power of real Fatigue. Like, “I have a life-threatening disease and am going through a tough treatment regimen” Fatigue.

I spent a good day working, had a light supper, spent some time reading, started to feel antsy. “I know!” thought I. “Let’s clean up the living room!” I found “The Matrix” on cable and let Neo discover his true destiny while I moved Lil’s drums into the new music room. That got me sweating a little, but then I started to vacuum.

Now, vacuuming is decent exercise, especially in a largish room with lots of dog hair, but it’s not exactly mountain climbing. So it got my attention when, after vacuuming half the room, I had to sit down because I was drenched in sweat and had a truly astounding headache.

After a few minutes the headache receded, which is to say the vise gripping the rear of my skull stopped threatening to shrink my hat size. My heart stopped pounding. I caught my breath. I stopped pouring sweat. And at last I felt well enough to finish vacuuming, albeit with less vigor.

Then I rested again.

The cleaning up was a good idea, nonetheless. I’m much more energized after physical activity (News Flash: exercise boosts energy! Call the press!), and working up a good sweat surely helps flush some of these toxins, and putting the house in order works wonders for my mental state.

But damn. It’s kind of sad when “vacuuming a room” replaces “climbing a sheer rock face” in terms of physical challenge.