April, May and June passed with some ado. If I were my own Dear Reader, I would be tired of reading about how exhausted Psyche is. But here we are. It's go-time. I have to either void my bowels now or get off the proverbial pot. I'm beyond the phyiscal symptoms now and my brain is staging protests. Word retrieval was the first to go. I'm in some sort of permanent tip-of-the-tonge pergatory until the exhaustion finally passes. And unfortunately, I'm so run down that I'm starting to lose hope that it will. I'm worried that I'm never going to get better. That means no more pushing myself. I have to rest. Whatever that is.

I've tried it before. Whenever summer comes I recommit to doing nothing, or doing nothing but fun things. But I never seem to get it right, or say no with sufficient gusto. I get roped in. This year I have set things up as to not get roped in. People know that I am sick. I don't think that they take it seriously, but at least they know. When I say exhuastion, they reply with, "oh, you're just tired. I'm tired too..." No, collective-honey, EXHAUSTED. It's when you've been so stressed out for so long that your adrenals and thyroid stop working properly and you don't produce the hormones that tell your body that they fight-0r-flight event is over and you can calm down now. "Right, you're tired. I felt that way last week, all you need is a good sleep." Uh, no... I sleep for 12 hours and then don't feel refreshed. I need to completely reboot.

In the past 3 months, I've finished my semester, finished my 1st practicum, convocated, wrapped up some important projects, and bought a house. I also allowed the lines of communication between myself and my parents to be reopened. (Big reaction to buying a house, almost none to graduation.) I've also been trying to get pregnant for just over half a year. (Sigh, yes, I hear you on the inadvisability of getting pregnant while recovering from exhaustion, but once again, here we are.) My brother and his wife just announced that they are pregnant (well, mostly his wife) "by accident." It was only a year or two ago that he was telling me that he fantasizes about getting in his car and drivng away from eveything and not telling anyone where he is going and just starting over. That he doesn't want anymore kids because they are too hard and he doesn't have the patience for them. But hey... of course he's happy about it: every child is a miracle. HIs capacity for denial knows no bounds. And I'm discovering that my life's capacity for waving insult in my face knows none either.

But this isn't just a complaining post. A lot can happen in three months. I've been reminded that I have some pretty awesome friends and that Mr. Husband really does rock in more than the prescribed way. And now I have two months. TWO MONTHS to really hold myself to healthy selfishness. Two months to move into our new house. Two months to find that road back to recovery. Not to magically get better, but to get better habits.