This morning when I saw the clock read 6:50 a.m. I thought, well, roughly 10 hours' sleep, oughta get up. Several cups of coffee, a cinnamon bun and some chores later, I thought, "Damn I'm tired." But there was stuff to do, people to see. The tiredness didn't go away. If anything it seemed to settle into my muscles, which are all complaining.
It's 4 p.m. now, I've seen all the people, gotten stuff done (though not nearly all that needs doing), heard some horrifying stories, commiserated, laughed, and thanked everyone. I got nothing left. I'm flat as a used whoopie cushion.
This'll be an early night. I may not make it past sundown. I'm behind in phone calls (sorry Billy and Carolyn!) but really close to the bitch line so I'm nobody anyone would want to talk to tonight anyway. I'll try again tomorrow. This is old fashioned tiredness, like I'd get after a full day on the dairy farm. The kind of tired that makes me want to eat, even though I've got a full stomach (2 slices of pizza and I'm full... what a lightweight I've become). The kind of tired that makes me mellow as long as I don't have to answer any questions. The kind of tired that only a lot of sleep will fix.
So even though Zombie Apocalypse is on tonight, I think I'll be missing it. 8 o'clock is certainly past my bedtime. I'll be lucky if I make it to 6. Night-night early for Austan. We'll take up arms again tomorrow.
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