Heart Full of Holes

Spent the day in a complete fog; moving from one thing to the next, to the next, to the next without processing a thing.  I must have picked a hundred peppers and a hundred tomatoes, a couple squashes and cucockers from the neglected, overgrown, under-watered garden.  I picked without the usual glee.  I made a fantastic dinner of round-eye in gravy in the crockpot, a few vegetable sides and some rice that the kids gobbled up like they hadn't eaten in months.  Missing was the usual excitement of seeing them eat joyfully, even when I saw Paige chomp on a sweet banana pepper for each mouthful as I was doing with a hot banana pepper, even when I watched her eyes roll in pure enjoyment when she forked a tomato slice covered with sea salt and said, "Mmmmm..." (The tomato was actually quite delicious).

I'm tired.  Exhausted.  Physically hurting around the neck and head. Processing.  Processing.  Processing.

From the first sip of coffee to now, I have only longed for bed where sleep will not come.

This is old hat, I suppose, familiar and aggravating and aggravatingly familiar.  Perhaps by tomorrow some of the fog will have lifted but I'm not banking on it.  Nope, not at all.