Toil and Tolls

I'm sorry. I'm so so tired. It's not that I'm crashing, it's that I've fallen headlong and I'm having trouble gathering my limbs and thoughts to pull myself together. When I hugged you last night and you asked how I felt, I lied to you. I didn't wish that it lasted any longer than it did, I was so caught up in my thoughts that I forgot to hold you closer and I felt guilty for that. It's not much coherent thought now, just a monotonous flurry of noises like some sort of black and white stop motion roll. Flickering. 

--break--

Only now have I been able to pinpoint why I'm unable to read my own thoughts. My thoughts. They're usually a battalion of soldiers, that despite their numbers, march in rows and order. Except this time it isn't an army. It's no single battalion. They come from all directions, different sources of stress caused by a slight shift in my stringent life routines. My thoughts are an army. Except this time, it's war.

It's 8.34 in the morning. My skull feels like iron and I feel bruised behind my eyeballs. And I'm sorry. I'm so so tired.