I’m really, really, really, really tired. I’ve been running on fumes since before the week began, and having my supervisor out this week at work has been so incredibly trying on my patience while I cover more tasks and odd jobs than I’m used to, and I swear the Memorial Day weekend (no matter where it’s celebrated) marks a significant worldwide drop in intelligence.

I hope to rest this weekend, but that’s an unrealistic expectation that needs to be shot down now. I’m not going to get any more rest this weekend than I have all week, and I should just get used to that idea. The sooner I realize that and start prepping myself for it, the better off I’ll be. I don’t get to have a vacation, I don’t ever have vacations. I don’t allow myself vacations, even when I’m allowed them.

On that note, I was considering the reason I have difficulty committing to novels and such — you know, I get so wrapped up in a world, I just don’t want to give myself that escape for fear that I won’t come back. It’s more evident with video games (the fatigue symptoms are easier to detect) that I’m just not happy trying to make the transition between real world and escape.

Once my flagging skill isn’t enough to keep up with the game, my patience wanes and I upset more easily. The same is true of television, books, comics, and movies, though with reading it’s more difficult to tell when fatigue sets in, and it’s a good time to take a break. If the last book I read is any indication, I’m inclined to fall into a book, only to emerge blinking, into the sunlight a day or two later.