It's just another one of those days

You know the ones. 


You're too tired to be a good Mummy in the morning, to play with the kids before you have to leave for work, to even be dressed before you should be. 


You're too sluggish to manage anything other than dragging yourself into clothes and heading off with a cup of tea that someone else has made for you. 


You beg your husband to drop the kids at their childcare so you have less responsibility because you're just not quite up to it.


You're glad the phone hardly rings at work because it's like everyone is speaking another language to you, and you're sure they can all see that you're not up to par, and it makes you panic.


You know your work is substandard but don't know how to fix the things you can see are wrong.


You aren't quite sure what time it is or if you're meant to be somewhere else all day.


You get home late because you can't remember how to get there and when you do you can't remember what you're meant to do.


You're too tired to be a good Mummy to the children who are desperate for your attention in the evening, and you can't play with them or even read to them because you can't make the words make sense.


You have three freelance jobs you're behind on and can't even open the file they're in because you already know you can't do them tonight. 


It's late and you're already too tired and you can't stop berating yourself for failing at everything and go to fucking sleep.


This is that day. This is that night. I'm so tired it's an effort to breathe in and out, and I know I need to sleep so that I do better for the children and at work tomorrow - and I'm already eating into the time I should be sleeping by letting my mind go into panic mode, telling myself all the ways I'm getting it wrong.


I'm getting it all wrong.