Feeling slightly crazy, I have to, as my sister claims I do, find something or someone to blame. Maybe I'm not eating well. Check. Maybe I'm not sleeping. Check. Maybe I've been quite busy, and cannot find spaces and places to chill. Check. Maybe I'm not exercising enough. Or at all. My brain has stopped functioning at its usual high level of adaptation. Cannot make a decision about anything, including what to make for dinner. I just finished illustrating a book, sent it to the printer, got the proofs and it was laid out wrong. Just wrong. And I couldn't figure out either how that happened, or what I could do about it. For days. And I lost my nightgown. Seems like a simple hunt: it never left the dungeon. But it was gone. For days. Until I thought to check under the bed. I'm counting how many times I do dishes in a day, how many undershirts I fold. I left the oven on for half a day on Friday. Just now the Serial Yapper Dog was doing what he does, and Dad was screaming "shut up!" I listened to this, and had no reaction at all. Is this what burnout feels like? My brother and sister-in-law stopped by on Sunday, and while we were talking, Dad got up to go to the bathroom and he was in his underwear. He had his hearing aids in, but he had them on mute. His teeth were on the coffee table. And I had no reaction at all, which is probably for the best, but I wonder. Saw my beautiful friend Carol the other day and we enjoyed a wonderful afternoon. I told her about the brain power save, and she furrowed her brow. For a professional in the field of coping, this furrow was as significant as a doctor saying "hmm." She thinks I may be overwhelmed. I think so too.
