I have zero idea why Fort Worth is called Funky Town by some, but I've never really enjoyed the nickname. But this post isn't about the beauty of Fort Worth--less about town, more about funk. I'm in a funk. There I said it. Not depressed, exactly, just blah. Exhausted. I need to work-out and knowing I'm not a morning person, not to mention being responsible for getting the tribe out the door each morning, I feel like the evenings are doable. I've worked-out successfully at this time before and it worked. Problem is that currently by 7:30 or 8:00, I'm done. D-O-N-E. Exhausted. Antisocial. It's like my job and parenting responsibilities have sucked every last ounce of energy out of me by 8pm.
I realize I have 3 small children and a full-time job, but seriously, I am chronically feeling sleep-deprived, even when I'm getting plenty of sleep. I also realize this could just be life, could be stress, could be medical. I even took a pregnancy test, just to make sure, despite my husband having the big V last year. Yeah, desperate, panicky measures. I think I've now decided it would be prudent to actually find a PCP since I'm done bearing children & have been relying on my (wonderful) OB-GYN for this job. The last true physical I had was in 2011. . . and that was a well-woman check, no bloodwork. Yeah.
So, hypochondriac? Lazy? Real disorder? I don't know. This post is a total going-out-on-a-limb moment because if my mom reads this, she will ask me daily: a) "How are you feeee-ling?" and b) if I've actually made the appointment. Sometimes my own policy of "it's always good to be honest" policy gets me into trouble.