Tired

Waking up today from a door opening, it wasn't mine. So I sat up and looked at the corner and saw the white of my door covering it. I then got up, opened my door, and went out, but I didn't go back to collect the little penumbral piece of me still sitting up, looking at the door. As I went out to laugh with friends, to play games, to exercise, to shower, I became increasingly aware of the white string that was tied to my vicinity, stretched out yarnfully behind me.

In the moment of greatest effort, pushing iron weights underneath my house, my mind was reasonably quiet, though not because it was alert, but because it felt like a half-closed eyelid. As I progressed through my routine, seeds of tired thoughts started weeding my internal monochrome peace. These thoughts didn't even take any particular form; they were simply almost sticky countings of numbers, how many lunges or chest fly sets I had left until I could move on to something else. 

They weren't whinings, or complaints, at least not in the thought-sense... but they felt like extra weights added over my cranium, awninged over my eyelids.

Sleep will be welcome tonight.