Sometimes I wish you’d eaten me in the womb. Those were the days: you and me, cell clumps swaddled in the darkness, learning to suckle at the meat that made us.

I brought my cane that day, even though I could’ve walked unassisted. I expected to be given fifteen minutes, tops. I was terrified.

In friend circles I tend to refer to it as the "I'm Tired" disease, not because that really captures the half of it, but because it makes up 90% of my responses when my partner asks how I am.