Moving Moans

Wow, I had forgotten how much energy it takes to move. I am at t-minus one week until the regional transmigration. We moved all the time when I was a kid, but the military pays for a crew of big burly men to come do all the hard work and pack, load, and transport everything in your house. Now, though, it's just me and G., and his lack of opposable thumbs means that his main method of helping is to constantly situate himself in my path, especially when I'm moving heavy objects. I am flat-out exhausted in a way that I haven't been in a while, both mentally and physically. Funny because just yesterday I posted on how exhaustion made me feel strong, but I think I am beyond the help of even my beloved endorphins.

I operate on a very narrow margin in terms of energy anyway, which is not at all unique for people with EDs, obviously. My calorie "budget" is meticulously balanced to get me through the day with reasonable oomph, and little more, especially since I have wimped out on the weight-gain thing for the past few months.

That doesn't leave much reserve for emergencies or other non-routine energy requirements, though, and boy am I feeling that this week. I guess times like this are good opportunities to be reminded that life takes energy, in both planned and unplanned ways. You can keep yourself on a razor thin edge in terms of health and vitality, and float along fairly well in your daily routine, but it is a nasty shock to fall short when something unexpected or out-of-the-ordinary happens, especially since performing in these situations tends to be pretty urgent/important.

Now back into the cardboard labyrinth for me.

(Image credit)

(PS I did NOT use the moving as an excuse to consume all the alcohol left in my kitchen so it wouldn't "go to waste," I actually threw it all away and found satisfaction in the wastefulness).