This is not good. I have crawled out of my cocoon, and come to work this week. Theory is that I should work four hours a day whilst I am “ill” like this. But since returning from conferences, I’ve been working 12 hours a day, or more. There is some comfort in this. Once I’ve dragged myself, kicking and screaming, to work, I am getting some things done. Things for other people, rather than for my own work – but things are getting done. And I’ve been to schools and had dream-like classes and that feels good. I am coursing through, on adrenaline and caffeine, to mask the exhaustion that otherwise makes my head feel like a tangled woolen jumble. This is an old habit. It’s how I’ve managed in the past. Work is distraction; the more I work, the more I am distracted from the rubbishness. I know it’s not healthy. But the alternative…. I am sailing above all the rubbish, not engaging with any of it. I know this because one of the children asked about my best friend at school on Tuesday. About who she was and where she was and so on. I have never had a best friend. I lied through my teeth. I felt nothing. Not sure where God is in any of this. I can’t sense Him in prayer at all. Haven’t done for days. Not sure how long the fogginess will last. When I’ll fall down again. But my ship is afloat for now.