Exhaustion

“We had another bad night. We finally slept for two hours at 7:00 A.M. What a joke. I felt like thin glass, like I might crack.” –Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions

I read the phrase “savage exhaustion” and liked it. I now say it over and over to make myself feel better.

There are a few levels of tiredness. There’s the kind you get after pulling an all-nighter, which produces a sort of euphoria. You feel great about how you pulled off that paper, or that you’re bonded to these campers for life or that the boy across the campfire might really like you. You feel like you could probably write ten more papers or work up the nerve to go talk to the boy.

Then there’s the kind that happens after you finish a few thirty-six hour call shifts, that leaves you feeling worn down and suddenly aware that you have dirt under your fingernails and oil in your hair. You realize your life is wacko because you haven’t worn anything but scrubs for the last week and you keep hearing your pager going off in your head. You feel slightly snappish and grubby, but then you go home, turn off your phone and sleep for twelve hours and awake feeling better (and starving).

Then there’s the sort that happens after you haven’t really slept for six weeks. You pass into this new level of nirvana, a world in which you’re so chronically tired you stop realizing you’re tired and just become weird instead. You’re sometimes too exhausted to sleep. Things start to lose proportion. You become highly irrational and unpredictably emotional. You decide the long hair must go because tying it back every time you get up at night is somehow intolerably irritating. In fact, you should just shave it all off to avoid the hassle of blow-drying. You resent all people who sleep through the night, primarily your husband. On the outside you might look normal, but really you’re just trying very hard.

This is where I am glad for my pit-crew, cheerleading team. The folks who drop off meals, wash my dishes and take out my trash, hold the baby for awhile so D and I can go out and pretend life is normal for a few hours. My husband who forgives my moods and reminds me the world will not end if the baby cries a few more minutes so I can finish brushing my teeth. We’re just about reaching six weeks, the time when people say things get easier. Woo hoo.