The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Thursday, January 9, 2020

When sleep isn't enough

Woke up wondering if I'm ever going to be well again. Relived Moby's last minutes, and wept a bit. But then I've been breaking out in sobs a lot recently, not always with a specific reason. Grief/exhaustion/virus crying. Best not to be at work for this.

Chatted with neighbor this morning, too. He's worried about the world, as am I, so we consoled each other. I petted Spike - his silver schnauzer-mix-rescue, which is always a happy for both of us.

Feeling the fatalism, twenty or so more years, which is too much, not enough, how can I go on that much longer, let it not be that long, oh no not that little left...

It's the fatigue talking, I know.

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