I think everyone is at least familiar with the concept of having run out of fucks to give, right? It’s internet shorthand for all bets being off, for nothing holding anyone back, and the idea of someone being freed from whatever constraints they’re normally under, whether societal or otherwise. We’ve all thought, at one point or another, that it would be wonderful to have no fucks left to give, or complained whenever we’re feeling pushed to some imaginary limit that we’re getting close to that point.
Or, at least, that’s what I used to think it meant.
For a multitude of reasons — none of which were inherently bad, I hasten to point out — I found myself utterly exhausted by the time Friday rolled around last week. I was feeling a little bit sick, but also run down by a work week that was particularly heavy (and also my first full five-days-of-regular-work since the start of the month, thanks to New York Comic Con); there were also visiting family members, which was at once a welcome thing and another reason why I just felt “on” continually from waking up until going to bed all week… and then I got to Friday, and I realized that I genuinely had no fucks left to give.
But I don’t mean that in any angry or even energized manner. I mean it very literally; I was so tired that I struggled to care about anything I was doing, whether it was for work or for myself. Everything felt particularly flat and rote, as if I was going through the motions before I could make it into bed and collapse to re-energize myself a little bit. It’s not that good things didn’t happen on that day, because they did, it’s that I looked at them as if through a microscope: that’s good, I thought to myself very calmly and dispassionately. I should remember to be excited about that later. I was simply too run down to do anything else.
If there was one upside to this unfortunately thin day, it was that my head started making plans for what to do when whatever could be described as my mojo was suitably regained, thinking of ways to be indulgent and comforting in the face of the cold, wet weather and the lack of sun in the sky for the next few days. It was entirely unintentional, but instinctive, as if my subconscious was declaring, this behavior cannot stand. We’ll come up with a way to safeguard against it in future, if we can.
All things considered, I’d rather have had a few fucks left in my back pocket, though. Just to see me through.