Beyond tired. Ridiculously tired. Can’t move, I’m so tired. All this, and I don’t even have a newborn baby to blame. Jeez, I didn’t even have children waking up.
I’ve seen it before, mind. I know it goes into a whole load of nastiness that upsets me, but I also know it ends in a very cool way and you spend the whole time rooting for Liam Neeson.
So I watched it through to the end, had a shower, got into bed and then spent about 3 hours thinking about it when I SHOULD HAVE BEEN SLEEPING! It started with the obvious over thinking of the actual predicament the girl had got into, to trying to remember bits or speculating over sections I had turned my head away from, to wondering how they explained everything to the authorities, the other girl’s mother, the person who owned the flat. What would have happened if the girl with the jacket hadn’t remembered the street name? I think I even started working out how the authorities could work to prevent this sort of thing in the future. FFS!
Even when I did drift off, I then had a nightmare and got woken again. It’s possible that “annoying girl next door” may have popped back at about 2am and had some hand in me waking up as well.
So, here I am, at work, trying to look like I am fully compos mentis when all I want to do is crawl under my duvet (which is taunting me at home). There was a time, about 7 or 8 years ago when I would have contacted my boss and told him that I had slept badly and would be in late. Oh yes! I was as bold as brass. He would let me lie in and I would saunter into work having caught up on the lost sleep.
I couldn’t even contemplate that now. Being tired is a state of being that, as a parent, you just have in your repertoire. So I’m here. Looking like I’m not about to collapse in a heap.