Maybe I should write a story about sleeping one’s life away because of demands on it from my disease (need for napping was one of the first noticeable symptoms at 15), depression/antidepressant. and existing in a pandemic. Social interactions drain me more than before since my tolerance from 5 days a week is gone.
It could be nonfiction. Or fictional. A fairytale.
I tell myself “oh, it’s just the 4th vaccine this weekend” but honestly, I don’t feel it. My Humira wipes me out way more than these vaccinations.
And Jeff will often let me sleep, unless I have specific can’t miss plans. He knows I need the rest. I know I need the rest. But i just resent myself for needing so much rest.
This demand for sleep is a hidden cost of being immunocompromised, living with an incurable and disabling autoimmune disease.
Selfish people in this pandemic tell me and others like me to “just stay home” if we don’t want to catch Covid-19 and so that they can be selfish entitled assholes in a world designed for them and their entitlement.
But the thing is, I’ve always stayed home on my “time off” from work. And now I even stay home all the more, because work allows for it.
But it’s nice to leave the house once and again to pretend that I’m a normal person, who gets to do normal things.
They can’t stick us in asylums to forget about anymore.
I just keep sleeping the days away, hoping to wake up in a better world.
It hasn’t happened yet.
But maybe tomorrow….