Kind of a tough day over here. Hubby and I spent the day racing to finish getting everything prepared for the drywallers to come into the house tomorrow and begin working their clean-lined magic. He’s been working much more than I have; nonetheless, he seems as though he could continue, tortoise-like, to plod on until the end of forever. I, however, am capable only of bursts of extreme productivity, which have come inevitably to precede desperate naps on the dirty kitchen floor. It surprises and dismays me to discover that I can, in spite of the many and prolonged back problems I’ve had, sleep the sleep of death both flat on my back without any padding and on my side with two hardcover books as pillow on cold kitchen tiles. Being this tired frightens me a little.

I crawled home about an hour ago; any satisfaction I took in participating in my home renovations disappeared what seems like ages ago now. I just need to be able to have chairs nearby at all times again. And to not have to drink buckets of gravelly, belly-grinding coffee in order to do the work (or, indeed, to ever have to drink it again, for any reason at all). I am tired in a way that multiplies sadness and demoralization rather than leading to the sleep of the strong, righteous, and satisfied. Clearly, a life in the trades doesn’t await me.

My brain is full of dust and sleep. Forgive me for the change of subject complete without segue here. Today is Father’s Day; it is also my dad’s birthday. I called him, after hours of forcing myself to not allow one of my napping sojourns on the floor to turn into REM sleep; I wasn’t enthusiastic but I tried to mildly fete him over the phone. Immediately, though, I could tell he wasn’t at his best either, and it turns out his best friend in the world died yesterday. His heart is broken. My dad’s heart is broken and I am very far away from him; the only comfort I could offer was to weep in sympathy in his ear, which is what I always do when people I love are in pain. I want to be useful but all I ever do is cry. I live close to the waterworks, which is no good for anyone.

Sometime next week I am going to revive the good bookish, tasty foodish, carefree spirit of Jam and Idleness as it was conceived. I will get caught up on book blogging, I will cook, I will frolic, and I will write about it all. But right now, more quiet and then some sleep.

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