I’m beat. I’m washed out. Judging by the energy I’ve lost, I have to assume somebody implemented the Kyoto Accords on my behalf.
Up to now, it’s been a good week. The CPAP machine seems to be doing its job. I’ve been waking up refreshed, sharper of mind and with a better attitude. The effect generally faded in the afternoons, but the time I hit the wall seemed to be later each day.
Yesterday I felt like I didn’t hit the wall at all.
Alas, the wall was just changing tactics. I woke up early this morning, and was unable to get back to sleep, for the first time since I started using the breathing prosthetic.
And all day I’ve been Grandpa Sloth, the sloth all the other sloths have to wait for. I’m weak. I’m tired. I’d close my mouth when I chew, but that takes so much effort.
And the Black Dog of Depression has his big Labrador paws on my shoulders and is drooling down my neck.
It wasn’t even a bad day. I got started on a project I’ve been dreading and putting off, so my guilt should be lower. My new library assistant seems to be catching on to the basics of the cataloging system. And I got a line on a new agent, thanks to the good offices of Ed Veith (I’ll let you know if any contracts get signed).
Fortunately the day will end, and tomorrow will likely be better. I’ll be sorry I even wrote this post.
So forget all about it, please.