I carried the shopping up the stairs in two trips and hated the second one

Dear Delyara, The first trip was effort. The second was personal. Milk, potatoes, detergent, cat food, a multipack of juice, and the whole emotional mood of the week apparently sitting in the same bags. By the time I reached the kitchen, I could feel that mean tiredness arriving — the one where even ordinary movement feels like an insult because the body has already done too much. I put the bags down harder than necessary and stood there breathing like I had just fought someone. In a way, I had. The week.