Nothing left to give.
I'm totally wrung out, dry and spent this morning. I'm done. Stick a fork in me. All done.
I'm so tired. I'm tired of arguing with my children about everything I have to ask them to do every day. I'm tired of Miss O telling me to shut up, saying "I never listen to grown-ups!", throwing things at me and damaging the house when she's angry (which is often). I'm tired of Master R whinging every single time he's asked to do some learning, or stop playing on a screen of some sort. I'm tired of him screeching in an angry, high, indignant voice every time we dare to disagree with him.
I'm tired of trying to learn from home. It's uninspiring, difficult and feels pointless. I'm tired of driving round the village in all kinds of weather (pouring rain, yesterday), delivering vegetables. I'm tired of trying to educate myself to be a better person by reading about racial discrimination. I'm tired of the house being filthy by Tuesday evening, after being cleaned on a Saturday, simply because there are four people in it all the damn time. I'm tired of the children arguing over which film to watch on Disney+. I'm tired of deciding what to feed the children twice a day every day. And washing up. And wiping the table. And washing the clothes, without a micro-plastic bag to filter the micro-plastics, because it broke and I haven't gotten round to buying a new one. I'm tired of feeling guilty about that. I'm tired of trying to keep up with activist activities, when at times it feels like people are finally waking up, and at others it seems utterly pointless because nobody seems to care. I'm tired of caring about every damn thing.
I want to sleep. Or not even sleep. I would like to just lie on this bed all day, staring out the window, responsible for no person, no cause, no thing. I don't want to listen to any more garbled ideas from either of my children. I don't want to have to pretend to be cheerful and ok when I reply. I want silence, and peace and solitude. Because I have nothing left.
I am done.