Enormously, gut wrenchingly tired tonight.
Dish rag is my status.
I need to finish reading a book. I’ve been reading it all week, and I keep falling asleep on it.
It is an alright book. Clearly it is not a set the world alight book, but it deserves more than me dribbling on it.
I need to finish it to review it.
I WANT to finish it because I have the long awaited, much anticipated, new Ben Aaranovitch novel, Foxglove Summer sitting by the side of the bed.
My friends keep telling me how good it is and how they have mostly, nearly, all finished it.
I HAZ JELUS.
I know if I pick it up I am doomed. No matter how tired I am, I will eat it up.
I must not pick it up. I MUST finish this bloody, blasted other book, and I must get some decent sleep because I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.
On the other hand, if someone just were to pop a blanket over my head now, I would be dead to the world in less than sixty seconds.
I am typing this through half closed eyes, and almost completely closed brain.
I need to wake up sufficiently to make satisfying headway with the dull book. I need to not get to the point where I cannot sleep at all, and tomorrow will end up as a round of starey eyed caffeinated lunacy.
It’s a fine balance.
I predict I will wobble off beam one way or another.