I forgot what I went upstairs for twice

Dear Delyara, The first time I laughed. The second time I felt scared. Not seriously scared, not catastrophically, but in that quiet private way that tired people know — the one where you begin to wonder how much of your brain is now occupied by other people’s lives and whether there is enough clean space left for your own ordinary functioning. The first forgotten thing came back. The second one took longer. I carried the feeling around all evening after that, the same way you carry a bruise in your attention even when nothing visible is wrong. I want more rest than I’m getting. My brain is starting to tell me in these humiliating little ways.