Fog

 

Everyday.

It’s everyday now.

It clouds my brain.

It’s there when I wake up. There’s no bounce in my step as I get out of bed. Just an air of ‘cant be bothered’. The bed isn’t made. It hasn’t been made for days. I haven’t had a shower in days. The table next to my bed is littered with a weeks worth of mugs of stale tea. Washing piling on the side waiting to be packed away.

I don’t pack it away.

I don’t pack anything away.

The mornings are fine. I can get through. There is so much to do and each hour is an hour of achievement. Each hour brings me gratification. The job fulfills me for as long as I can keep it up.

But the day wears thin. And before I know it, the children are gone. The empty room fills with the fog of the end of the day. One of the children told me they were sad it was the end of the day. I wanted to agree with them.

From the moment I leave the school I am thinking of my bed. My safe space. And sleep.