Last week I made myself work four hours a day. By the time I completed a half day, I was more than ready to get home and collapse. Often I would get that rubber leg shaky feeling. This week I have pushed to work five hours a day. I still have to go home and just rest before retiring early, but I manage the five hours OK. There is no energy left to deal with house needs or errands.
The boys have let go of the helping part, assuming that since treatments are done, I am well. I ignore the piles of laundry and dishes, looking the other way. I cannot ask them to keep helping in addition to their studies and extracurricular activities. They deserve freedom to return to normal. I will just have to wait until the weekend and apply the four hours of work time to the dishes.
I only hope I can hold out that long! (Please God don't let the inspector general pay any surprise visits!)
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