I hit the wall today. Hit it and hit it hard, laid down and slept and dreamed dreams of cluttered kitchens, half-thawed chickens, last wills and testaments, slum town tenements.
Got up and had a coffee, cleaned out the henhouse, took down the laundry, unloaded the dishwasher, put more laundry in the dryer, finished the sweeping I started before I hit it.
What is wrong with me? This sounds like a lot but it's not. Just a bunch of light-weight chores that I always do, couldn't even drive over to Lily's to see her and the boys and Jessie and August. Could barely make it to the front door to close it before I laid down for that nap.
Mama's tired, y'all. Mama's just tired.
The thought of packing for three days away in order to relax exhausts me.
God. I need a vacation.