All the time, every day, I have ideas of stuff to write. Then it gets to the end of the day and I’ve been going and going and going all day long and I’m floored by exhaustion and there is nothing left of anything I thought of earlier. I’ve taken to carrying a notebook again and jotting notes, but so little time makes it nearly impossible to care when I actually have time to sit here and do it. I’m exhausted now, but figured I would throw in a paragraph. I’m so tired that sitting here I feel like I’m tipping. I’m probably not, it’s just that vertigo from need for sleep.

I can’t do it anymore. I have to go to bed. None of what I wanted to write seems more urgent than the need to lie down. Maybe it’s because I’m a single working mother. Maybe it’s because I’m a lazy lout. I don’t know or care right now. Sleep. Sleep.