After all the activity of the holiday, it was good to be home. I definitely felt the need to relax in that way which, for me, only really seems possible at home. It’s a similar feeling to the one that comes when I am feeling a lot of fibro pain and fatigue and can finally collapse into bed.
I was hopeful that, on Saturday morning, Little Sis and I would be able to trot into Manchester to a shop that we were each keen to go to. Alas, when Saturday dawned – far too early – it was obvious that Manchester was not going to be graced with our presence. I was feeling something like fatigue, although not exactly, but also an unusual flatness of mood – not depression, not apathy. I don’t know what it was or how to describe it. However, it held me in its grasp all day – not only was I unable to go out due to fatigue, I didn’t even want to think about going out, let alone actually go out. It was no fun for Little Sis, which saddens me somewhat, but I am so very lucky because, even so, I know it’s OK.
Little Sis went home early on Sunday, as planned, and I had another quiet day. I was no longer in the grip of Saturday’s strange mood, but I was still lacking much vim and vigour. Various pains came and went, then came back and went again. All in all, it was a pretty unremarkable day.
Along comes Monday, and with it more changes. This time things were more “normal”. When I say “normal”, what I really mean is “fibro normal”, in other words, intermittent fatigue, accompanied by sporadic aches and pains. I’m beginning to wonder whether holidays are worth all the bother.
Hmm. Yep, I think they probably are.