Day 204: Loft

In an airbnb in sleepy Charlbury, outside Oxford. A loft room behind the village pub, with a little kettle, wooden beams, DVDs of Mamma Mia and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and The Devil Wears Prada. If you had to ask me what DVDs a loft airbnb with wooden beams in a middle class village had in its collection, I'd have said those. 

Down for my uncle's 60th, but ducked out of the party early because I had two hours sleep last night and my mind is so frayed and the others were starting to get drunk and I've got nothing more in me for socialising, just nothing. 

Spent all yesterday before work compiling a list of my favourite posts from the last 200 days, worked till 2am, came home and wrote until 5am. Then so tired brain had forgotten how to sleep.

I'm ground down to the nib today. That's not an expression, is it? I'm running on fumes. I'm not running. I'm spluttering and breaking down.

Mental health always worse when I'm fatigued. Feel such a failure next to all my family, feel so wretched and broken. And missed Fran tonight, missed having a partner to stick with at the party, introduce to people, come back and collapse next to. Airbnbs are lonely by yourself. But more than the generic, I missed Fran, specifically, missed being with her. I miss her.

It sucks. I've been trying to stay distracted and swallow it down, as I always do, but it sucks. It really sucks.

Just gotta get through it. Sleep helps. Sleep now. Good sleep. X