Just Tired

Monday 7th February

Day 292

We are in Axminster, having supper with my husband’s aunty and his cousin who is on a flying visit from Armenia. I’m drinking too much wine to mask my bone tiredness.. We’ve just told his cousin about my husband's brain thing. Clearing the dirty plates in the kitchen he asks me,

‘How has he taken it? Is he philosophical? Angry? Scared?’

‘He’s depressed,’ I say.

‘And pissed off,’ says my husband, coming in with the bowl of watercress salad.

Someone once told me that depression is suppressed anger. And being this tired could be all those poisonous thoughts, leaking into my bones and bleaching out the marrow. Luckily, on other days, I know it's all in my head.