I nearly put the kettle in the fridge

Dear Delyara, Not the kettle itself, obviously. The milk jug I’d just picked up after filling it. But in my head the sentence still comes out like that, because that’s what it felt like — a level of tiredness where my brain and my hands are no longer arriving in the same room at exactly the same time. I caught myself before anything actually absurd happened. No one else knew. That may be why it hit me so hard. These almost-mistakes don’t look important from the outside. They’re often the little private warning signs that your mind is carrying too much, that your body has been under-rested too long, that your functioning is intact but frayed around the edges. I am starting to trust those signs more. Even when I hate them.