All week long I feel like I need just a little bit more sleep. Dragging. I force more coffee and move slower. Pretending I don’t know what’s happening.

On Friday I can barely get out of bed. On my walk back from my therapist’s office I sit down on a bench and debate calling a car. Exhausted. Drained.

Sick.

I spend Saturday just barely functioning. We go to a new building and sign on an apartment. My head is all watery, trying to put pieces together. Forcing itself to function.

Sunday. Monday. Couch-locked again. I hide under a pile of blankets and drink as much water as I can. My achy body whispering, “I told you to slow down.”