Yesterday I woke up tired. I got up anyway and tried to complete the morning routine. I thought about making coffee. The idea was exhausting. 

I looked at my husband. “I’m still tired,” I said. “Me too,” he answered.

“I think I’m going back to bed.” It was Saturday, so this was actually a possibility. “Me too,” he answered.

We’d already made the bed so we crawled atop and each found a pillow. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to fall back asleep. Three hours later we woke up. Three hours!

We got up (again). By this time the mail had arrived. At an attempt toward normalcy, I checked email. Get on with the day and all that. 

Problem was, I was still tired. Dragging like a kite on a day with no wind. I didn’t have any wind. It was like a cloud or a fog surrounded me, weighing me down. Maybe it was the wind weighing me down.

“I’m still tired,” I said. “Me too,” he answered. “Maybe I should make coffee,” I said. “Do you think that would help?” “It’s too late,” he said, looking at the clock, now looming toward 11 a.m.

“Maybe a shower will help,” I said.

I wasn’t confident, but I figured a shower couldn’t hurt. Hot water invigorates. Cold water, too, but I don’t like cold showers. A shower always invigorates. Except maybe this time. While drying off with my towel I realized I was still tired. This was getting frustrating. 

We ate lunch. I was hoping the food would awaken something within me. It did just the opposite. A full belly leads to yawn time. Any turkey will tell you that. 

I may have been yawning uncontrollably, but I wasn’t going to succumb. I’m too stubborn. I attempted to do some work. Stepped outside to breathe in some fresh air. 

To heck with this tiredness. I was going to push on through.

But tiredness is a powerful entity. She wouldn’t leave my side and did her best to turn my every action upside down and sideways.

I went to throw in a load of laundry and mixed the colors with the whites while mistaking the bleach for detergent. I entered the kitchen to do something important but forgot what it was. I couldn’t find my glasses. Looked everywhere for them before discovering I was already wearing them. I tried writing, but misspelled too many words. Then my mouse battery wore out and I couldn’t find the new batteries. 

In desperation, I went to pour myself a cup of coffee and realized I’d never made any. 

Since it was Saturday and all, I decided on a nap. A two-fer nap-fer, which is a record even for me. And I’m a fairly accomplished napper. 

An hour later I woke up as tired as I’d been an hour earlier. I began to wonder if the day was going to be a complete wash. I suspected as much. 

But barreling through as one must when one must, I heaved myself up off the couch and went into the kitchen. I looked around the room wondering what I was supposed to do there. Since I couldn’t remember I decided to institute plan B and (finally) make myself a pot of good, strong coffee.

As it was brewing I wondered how long I had to wait until it was a reasonable hour for bedtime — or at least to get my jammies on.

— Jill Pertler’s column Slices of Life appears regularly in the Times. She can be reached at jillpert@mediacombb.net.