I am tense. And tired. And frustrated. And wound up so tightly I might scream, or stop breathing, or catch sight of myself making grotesque faces in the mirror, and recoil.
And I am tired, it has to be said twice. It's probably causing all the rest. I spent another night chasing sleep. It's so hard to lie there passively, with my eyes pinned shut, knowing that I can do nothing else to change it.
It, being my body's lack of ability to do something that is basic, instinctual, untaught and easy.
I felt so happy a month ago. And really I should feel the same way now. I've had a wonderful fortnight. I should be feeling content and happy in a slightly overindulged, gluttonous way. I've filled my mind with the most beautiful images. But they escape me.
I've lost my appetite.