I don't know where this unimaginable tiredness comes from... last night I was in bed by 10, and this morning when I woke at 6 I felt rested.
Around 730 I drove to a foreign beach for a run (jogwalk) and a splash which was just wonderful (I saw a pug that was so fat he waddled, and his fur was sand-caked and he looked frustrated. I could have hugged him till his head popped off) and on the drive home I felt like the whole wide Sunday belonged to me.
At home, quick breakfast and back to the beach where I started a book called the Hungry Tide - so far so bloody good.
Then Coles (yay for Sunday trading in December), lunch and back to metrica, but within 3 articles my eyes were droopy so I sat out on the balcony, under my light orange blanket, stirred by the wind, read and then put the book in my lap and dozed. That felt like a perfect Sunday thing. But that was 3 hours ago, and I've had another hour's sleep in the lounge-room, with that sausage pillow Timea and I found...and I still feel like I've been run over by truck and now it's parked on my chest.
Everything feels so crowded.