After last night’s run, I was exhausted today, but I got to work earlier, as there was nothing left in the house to eat. Apart from two teaspoons’ worth of hummus that I scraped out of the almost empty pot in the fridge.
That wasn’t enough to set me up for the day, so I stopped at Sophie’s Bakery on the way in to the office, which has a selection of not very exciting pastries, and an irascible man behind the till. Well, if you had to wear a comically silly drab green beret that was a size too big for your head, I doubt you’d be full of joy either.
I had a croissant, which was flaky and not very enjoyable, and a strawberry danish with a horrible dab of custard on it, like something foul, and a cup of coffee that was … nothing to complain about. I suppose part of the trouble is that I’m used to the insanely cheerful staff at Ronin, who always seemed excited to sell me coffee, and would address me as "darling" as if they were twenty years my senior, rather than the other way round, and we were somewhere in the North of England, not a degree north of the equator.
The coffee was a bad thing, or the run last night was a bad thing, or the combination of the two was a bad thing; about four in the afternoon a wave of exhaustion washed over me, leaving me fighting to keep my eyes open. You can’t slump over your desk in the first weeks you’re at work, it’s just not the done thing. I contemplated drinking more coffee, but that would have only made things worse, racking up ever more exhaustion until later. The trouble is, tired as I was I began to work more slowly, which meant I didn’t leave the office until 7, and I still had to trudge to the supermarket, come home and try to cook.
If putting a pitta bread in the toaster counts as cookery, that is.
This weekend I have to tidy the flat. It’s so messy now that I’m aggravated, a sure sign something is wrong, given my general tolerance for mess. I suppose if the sofa wasn’t messy, so I could still lie on it, I’d accept this state with equanimity, but we’ve gone too far. Even so, it wasn’t so messy that I couldn’t pass out on it at eight p.m., waking bleary eyed later to find myself still in the flat, unsure of the point of my existence.
Then I read a piece in the LRB about pain, and I felt my situation wasn’t so bad, and I was back to being a human being again.