I feel so sorry for people without CFS.
That's right, I said it. And I seriously mean it.
My husband took my boys camping last night for the Fathers and Sons event that our church does every year. The boys are always excited about it. They love spending time with their dad. The girls and I, meanwhile, do a Girls Night Out. Except this year they went out and brought it all home to me: Mexican food, smoothies, a movie, and Twizzlers. We had a good time.
Well, it's barely past 9 am, and my husband came home with the boys! What the...? Apparently they got bored and wanted to come home. My two youngest are already playing video games, and my oldest is in the shower.
Now, I remember camping as a kid. It was not action packed all the time. I loved sitting under the trees, listening to the birds, feeding squirrels and chipmunks, reading a book. Sometimes we went for a hike or played a board game together. Overall, it was pretty laid back. And relaxing. And soothing. I loved it.
How sad that my guys couldn't decompress like that. And suddenly, I thought -- I feel sorry for people without CFS. They are always going, going, going, and they miss so much of life because of it. It is like they are traveling by plane everywhere they go, but I am wandering slowly through a meadow. Sure, they get farther and get more done. But I see more beauty and find miraculous things along the way.
