Aw, You Guys!

Thanks for all the well-intentioned caring and stuff. But, really. If there was anyone who would be likely to get all het up about The Malaise and its potential medical repercussions, it would be me, Madame Malingerer, the woman who Has Things. The truth, however, is that if the last two times I dragged my malaise-y self to a physician's office are any indication, there's nothing significant going on here.

Last time, we took blood tests, and thyroid panels, and all that good shit, and...nothing. The time before that, when I did not yet recognize The Malaise for what it is, I called it West Nile and my doctor laughed at me. A lot. (Actually, I'm still not sure it wasn't West Nile...and now that I think about it, maybe The Malaise is just the long-term effects of West Nile...hmmm...)

What was I saying? Oh, yeah. So I'm pretty sure The Malaise is nothing more than, well, a malaise. A tiredness. A fatigue. A Victorian-era reaction to some combination of stress, depression and anxiety, with none of them overwhelming enough to create mental agony, but with all of them together just enough to make you feel as though there is no finer thing in the world than sleep. And more sleep. And more sleep. And then a nap.

And I should mention one more thing. There is this tendency, among some bloggers, to occasionally exaggerate either physical or mental symptoms, or the details of daily occurrences, so that they sound better or elicit more sympathy. Not that I would ever do anything even remotely like that, of course. But if someone else had written a post like mine from yesterday, someone who was prone to melodrama and self-pity, for instance, well, you might want to take it with a grain of salt. I'm just sayin'.