While sitting in a very interesting training, my mind began to wander, as it does. I was thinking about how "things used to be" and the differences from now. Part of the thoughts centered around my quest for relief from what ails me; a sincere desire to get back to the old me. Now don't get me wrong; I don't want to go back to the lifestyle I once had, flitting from obligation to obligation, falling down exhausted each night, having people remark that hearing my schedule makes THEM exhausted. No, what I want is some part of the energy I once had, and the ability to react to things that sometimes require my complete energy and focus.
Not to mention the ability to completely ignore a "wet floor" sign, rather than go forward with trepidation, simultaneously watching for wet patches and scanning for little old ladies to support me if I start to fall.
It occurred to me during these daydreams that there are three distinct "Me"s.
Fun Aimee-
This used to be reserved for the Aimee that had had a wee bit too much to drink. She's likely to speak loudly, and with passion. She might fall down, dragging some unsuspecting soul with her. She is ALSO likely to flail about. During this flailing, she is likely to hit a girl in the face, and remark, "Oh, sorry about your FACE!", then falling into a fit of giggles while her friends try desperately to keep Aimee from getting her ass beat. (Good gracious-it's truly amazing I made it this far in life without being beaten to a pulp.)
Fun Aimee also loves to hug everyone, to sit on laps of cute boys (cue Pearl Jam music and red Solo cups full of Natural Light) and to generally be the life of the party, even when the party ends. Good thing Fun Aimee doesn't know the party is over, because Fun Aimee doesn't like shit that makes her stop having fun. That's the subtle joy of Fun Aimee-there's no stopping that fun train. Well, a trip to the bathroom to vomit might slow things down a bit. But one shot of Goldschlager, and she's back on track. (Who would do shots of tequila after vomiting? Eeew.)
Nowadays, Fun Aimee consists of a pain pill and exactly 1.75 glasses of wine. Too little wine and shepasses out falls asleep, too much wine and she gets mouthy and will pretty much alienate those she loves. Also, 1.75 glasses of wine and a pain pill is the ideal prescription for a very happy Sky King. Ambien Aimee would come close for a while there, but Ambien Aimee became reminiscent of Jump-on-the-back-of-a-cop-on-the-street-just-for-giggles-Aimee, and Sky King has grown weary of her antics. WEARY.
Modified Aimee-
This is me, minus the pain pills and wine. I am at about 10% capacity, which would be about 30% for normal humans. Remember, I used to do way too much with immeasurable amounts of energy, so comparing me now to how I used to be is quite dramatic.
I only work about 12 hours per week-anything more than that and I am a zombie. People have remarked they can see in my eyes when I lose my energy, that the look is obvious.
I also have to save a couple spoons for helping Monkey Boy with homework. He has some issues that make following directions a challenge. Some day, his wife will accuse him of not listening to her, and she will be right. He won't ever know it, though because he'll be walking around, saying ".....uh....what?" to everything.
I have had to learn to relax, which in and of itself nearly killed me. Now, I get the whole concept, and I end up on Friday afternoon, all, "Well, what do we have going on this weekend? Nothing? Again? Nice...." I do have to get out of the house still, or I will completely explode.
What I would like, when this Lyme shit is all said and done is this:
I want to be able to work part time, spend time with my family, and still have the energy and/or spoons to have shit go down, and I can step things up to save the day. Really, is that asking too much? I'm going to call that Aimee, Aimee 3000. New and Improved. Not as much swagger as Andre' 3000, but not nearly the potential for felony convictions as Fun Aimee.
It seems like a nice compromise. One I can live with. I hope.
Not to mention the ability to completely ignore a "wet floor" sign, rather than go forward with trepidation, simultaneously watching for wet patches and scanning for little old ladies to support me if I start to fall.
It occurred to me during these daydreams that there are three distinct "Me"s.
Fun Aimee-
This used to be reserved for the Aimee that had had a wee bit too much to drink. She's likely to speak loudly, and with passion. She might fall down, dragging some unsuspecting soul with her. She is ALSO likely to flail about. During this flailing, she is likely to hit a girl in the face, and remark, "Oh, sorry about your FACE!", then falling into a fit of giggles while her friends try desperately to keep Aimee from getting her ass beat. (Good gracious-it's truly amazing I made it this far in life without being beaten to a pulp.)
Fun Aimee also loves to hug everyone, to sit on laps of cute boys (cue Pearl Jam music and red Solo cups full of Natural Light) and to generally be the life of the party, even when the party ends. Good thing Fun Aimee doesn't know the party is over, because Fun Aimee doesn't like shit that makes her stop having fun. That's the subtle joy of Fun Aimee-there's no stopping that fun train. Well, a trip to the bathroom to vomit might slow things down a bit. But one shot of Goldschlager, and she's back on track. (Who would do shots of tequila after vomiting? Eeew.)
Nowadays, Fun Aimee consists of a pain pill and exactly 1.75 glasses of wine. Too little wine and she
Modified Aimee-
This is me, minus the pain pills and wine. I am at about 10% capacity, which would be about 30% for normal humans. Remember, I used to do way too much with immeasurable amounts of energy, so comparing me now to how I used to be is quite dramatic.
I only work about 12 hours per week-anything more than that and I am a zombie. People have remarked they can see in my eyes when I lose my energy, that the look is obvious.
I also have to save a couple spoons for helping Monkey Boy with homework. He has some issues that make following directions a challenge. Some day, his wife will accuse him of not listening to her, and she will be right. He won't ever know it, though because he'll be walking around, saying ".....uh....what?" to everything.
I have had to learn to relax, which in and of itself nearly killed me. Now, I get the whole concept, and I end up on Friday afternoon, all, "Well, what do we have going on this weekend? Nothing? Again? Nice...." I do have to get out of the house still, or I will completely explode.
What I would like, when this Lyme shit is all said and done is this:
I want to be able to work part time, spend time with my family, and still have the energy and/or spoons to have shit go down, and I can step things up to save the day. Really, is that asking too much? I'm going to call that Aimee, Aimee 3000. New and Improved. Not as much swagger as Andre' 3000, but not nearly the potential for felony convictions as Fun Aimee.
It seems like a nice compromise. One I can live with. I hope.
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