My nine-year old son left for Florida, this past Saturday. I’d arranged with my roommate to take me to the airport (MCI), where we’d meet my son and his mother. Friday evening, after his mother picked up Preston, I crashed, sleeping for 13 hours.

When I awoke, though, I discovered my body had shut down, leaving me with resources enough to get to the bathroom and the living room sofa, where I stretched out and used the TV to occupy a trapped mind. I didn’t get to the airport.

Perhaps not a surprise. I have compared myself to an inefficient rechargeable battery--not recharging fully, not recharging quickly. During the previous week-and-a-half, I provided Preston’s primary care, I moved to a new apartment, and I prepared for and started teaching two summer courses. Lots of physical activity, lots of heat and humidity exposure.

For the past two-and-a-half weeks, giving my all to work, I come home with little left for me. Fine motor control is absent from my right hand. I am beat down from the effort needed to walk--even with my cane. Thinking at length leaves me near collapse. And, my usually thick social bulwarks are crumblng. The exhaustion does have one benefit, then. I am too tired to speak my mind.

I am too tired, now, to continue.