I have been feeling SO TIRED lately. Drained. Exhausted. Sleepy. Worn out. Weary. Spent. But mostly: Tired. So tired that my writing is reduced to a thesaurus entry.
I’m overwhelmed by the tiredness. I want to be ACCOMPLISHING things. But the tiredness overwhelms that urge in addition to my physical self. The tiredness smothers my ambition; I’m left with little to show for myself, and I hate it.
I told my husband about this. I told him not so much to complain, but because I did not know what else to do, since doing things seems to be the problem. He is the one who usually helps me solve my problems, and he did not disappoint this time. In his usual way, it took him several seconds to form his reply. Also in his usual way, what his answer lacked in speed, it made up for in precision.
“Maybe you are feeling tired because you are tried. Maybe you need to rest.”
I had wanted a diagnosis. I thought I needed a diagnosis. A theory about how much ice cream I’ve been eating. Or a suggestion that I should try cold brew. (Most of my own solutions tend to involve food). But, really, is any of that necessary? I feel tired. I am tired. I need to rest.