She was up by 7:00 AM again, unable to go back to sleep. She still felt a little intoxicated, but not hungover. The weight of the last evening still weighed heavily upon her. She never got a hangover, and she wasn't about to start with two dirty martinis. She wasn't that old yet.
She waited for the husband to wake up. She waited a long time, half the day was done when she finally got him to get going. She ran errands for her mother, then went to the store to make the BFF some oreo truffles to thank her for all her work on the play. It was really a thank you for all she had done to help out the husband with the show.
Around 2 PM a wave of fatigue hit her like a slow motion car wreck scene from a movie. Her vision had been blurry all day, but it had started to double. She asked the husband for help with the baking, hoping he would see how tired she was. He looked past her, did the bare minimum of what was expected of him, and went back to his computer.
She finished up, burning her foot on boiling water and scooping up balls of chocolate on top of stacks of paper. She clearly couldn't bake in her mother's hoarder house again. The anxiety of all the things piled up around was the only thing keeping her awake.
A few friendly text messages from PJ got her until 9:30 at night. Then the weight came her shoulders, her chest. It was time to relinquish consciousness once more.
