I'm Tired*

I understand that when someone tells me that I still look tired, it isn't meant to hurt me. It could be compassion, it could be trip-aftermath conversation ... but it isn't that fun to hear, really. At the time it was said, I'd been home about 72 hours, of which I've spent roughly 30 sleeping (maybe 31), and hearing that I "look tired" doesn't fill me with joy, even if the speaker is fully acquitted of malice.

Or dishonesty. I am tired. Plus, going to bed at 8 really cuts into my evenings. I've gotten very little done this week, by which I mean that the unpacking is not completely done, and I haven't even managed to run the dishwasher. How hard is that? Let me go start it now.

There. I did get to the grocery store last night, and having bought (along with the food) wiper fluid for my car, I filled up the reservoir right there, in the store parking lot, because the pollen smeared across my windshield by the spurts of oh-you're-out-of-wiper-fluid were pretty bad. That's two things done.

And, I've spent time with the velcro cats, who stick to me with great determination, leading to an incident of almost tripping me this morning that would have been pretty funny if it wasn't so frustrating. "Which way are you going?" I ask Pan, as he goes right-to-left-to-right, directly in front of me. "The way you're going," he replies.

But now we have made it to the weekend. Further updates, with photos, should be along soon.

Any day now.

Hopefully.

*At odd moments, this is what I find running through my head:



Which says what about me?