And as the days got shorter, they felt longer and longer.

Is this irony?

She thought. Then shrugged it off.

It’s so exhausting, she continued, trying to fight my body on this. Saying, it’s not ok to be tired at 7:30. Even though the sun had been down for two hours at that point.

It’s so exhausting, she thought, that I get tired and assume it’s nearly bed time, but really I have to find a way to kill a couple more hours at least.

It’s so exhausting. And yet she continues. She calls friends and family. She writes in her journal. She texts people she thinks she might want to see. And then quickly regrets it.

Wouldn’t it be easier, she thinks, to just go to sleep when I’m tired? Wouldn’t it all just balance out in the end? I’m just so tired and the days, though short, feel so so long.


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