44 days, 32

So tired. On the radio in the car, Adele sings that song I've heard so often I actually almost know the words. She sings: 'I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it...' and I sing along 'I couldn't stay awake, I couldn't fight it'. We sing well together, Adele and I, I'm beginning to get into the groove and then Kira shrieks: 'AWAY, NOT AWAKE!'

Oh.

Could this have been the first inkling I had, of this creeping exhaustion? Later in the day, I'm sitting on some stone steps and gradually become aware that there is a list of things to be done somewhere in my head, and that I can't do any of them. Can't even move a finger. Can't keep my eyes open. As I exhale, I deflate a little, a little smaller with every breath, until I vaguely understand how I feel: empty, dry, light, not unhappy, just spent.