Fatigue fatigue is when you’re tired of being tired. Jenny and I have it bad. We promise each other an early night because the kids are in bed and it’s been another long day and there are no more phone calls to make. But first there just might be something on television. At 9:00 PM, we find the remote where it has ended up with the dirty plates beside the sink and put the TV on. It’s like sticking something in your arm. An hour later we are still there, too weary to make the effort to go to bed, too tired to sleep, unable to do anything more with the day but unwilling to let it go. There’s a glass from dinner resting beside the screen where the remote usually sleeps. We are hungry for conversation but tiredness has robbed us of any appetite for it. But soon enough we will perform the nightly rituals: emptying the dishwasher, putting out clothes for tomorrow, brushing teeth, checking on the kids.
We lock the doors and the whole world scales down to the size of a house. As we finish in the kitchen and bathroom, the size of our world gradually diminishes again. We go to our room and it shrinks further. We get into bed and it is reduced again, now to a few square meters. We turn off the light and each of us is now reduced to dominion over half a bed. Finally, we surrender. It is an act of faith in the existence of tomorrow. We fall asleep. The moment that happens, the whole world mysteriously expands.