One of my (many) physical quirks is that I am anemic. Now, it's not a major anemia. It's certainly nothing like pernicious anemia (which, for the record, is fun to say and sounds like a creature from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory even if it does, apparently, really suck to have). The problem with having a low-level anemia is I forget I have it.
I will be diligent about taking my iron. Life will be great. Then something will happen. My iron will get packed and not unpacked after our next move. I'll run out and keep forgetting to get more. Whatever. Something. Then, it will slowly creep back up. Inevitably, along with an event that allows me to justify why I'm tired. Oh, the late night we had is finally catching up with me. Oh, I can tell I'm stressed, I'm tired. Oh, I haven't adjusted to the new time zone/hotel room/work schedule. And I make those noises for a little while. Still not remembering I have anemia.
Eventually, my time of the month will come around and the tired, laggy feeling will turn into full out all-the-time exhaustion. At which point, it usually takes Lithus saying (although sometimes I do come up with it on my own) "Are you taking your iron?"
So I dig out my iron or buy more or whatever and get back to taking it. After a few days, enough gets built up in my system that, wonder of wonders, I'm not tired any longer. Amazing how that works, isn't it? One would think that after more than five years, I would either a) not stop taking the iron in the first place or b) realize why I'm getting tired when I have stopped taking it. For a very smart woman, sometimes...
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.