If I told you I wasn’t tired, I’d be lying.
It’s 3 AM and my mind has never been more awake. Perhaps it’s the many years of sketching during the ungodly hours that I have gotten used to this strange routine.
But no, my hours today have gone out of my control. Thinking of losing people who are dear to me drains me. Thinking of those who might not have that much time left burns me.
And here I am, sitting outside grandma’s room, wondering what else should I do to pass my time? Soon enough she will be up again, and I have to be ready when she is. Grandma goes to bathroom a lot, and considering how she can’t walk at the moment, it’s best that I don’t sleep.
How far can I push myself is a question I don’t want to answer.
My mind feels numb. I’m not even sure anymore if I’m thinking straight. For some reason the thought of coffee doesn’t spark, the thought of food doesn’t follow, and the thought of sleep is, well, probably asleep now.
I don’t know if I should be doing push ups so it’ll be easier to carry grandma. I don’t know if I should listen to songs, or if I should just stay in the silence.
Internet isn’t working, so what’s the point now? It’d be nice to watch Pokemon while waiting for another bathroom call, but at this point, my mind is empty and quiet.
A part of me wants to cry, and a part of me tells me not to. There is no point, really.
And I am practicing, teaching my eyes to smile happily, rehearsing my response to the question of “Are you alright? You look so tired.”
“I am fine. It’s just been a busy week.”
Perhaps, well, maybe I am a good liar after all.