Woke up this morning feeling crook in the stomach and, rather than soldiering through it – as you tend to do working from home – I decided to stay in bed. I sent a message to that effect, expecting I’d be up and about and back at my desk by lunchtime. And in fact, late morning I attended a meeting I couldn’t afford to miss and sent an email while it was fresh in me, and gave a few general prods.

At that point, I expected I was back. I was weary though, and then it hit me hard – not the crook tummy, but the exhaustion, like a tonne of bricks coming down on me. I think it was mental at that stage. I’d decided to let go and found myself overwhelmed with weariness, to the point that I could barely do more than stagger, and my eyes were like lead. Bone-tired.

It’s no surprise I’m in a bad way. I’ve been sleeping poorly for months. On top of that, there’ve been the challenges of lockdown, most of which are psychological. I haven’t felt up and about for ages it seems, and felt ‘off’ generally for a while, and probably half the time before that through lockdown. And I’m getting older.

I saw a specialist on Tuesday – not for anything serious. It was more a check-up and to inquire about some nagging things. Nothing serious came out of it, though I’m booked in to visit every fortnight over the next couple of months. More than anything, I came away with the sense of getting older and the inevitable physical decline that comes with that. I was warned by the doctor that if I didn’t watch certain things, the consequences might be a bit ugly – but for now, under control. It was pretty depressing.

I’m up again now after going back to bed. I feel tired, but I have a reluctance to give in to it. Part of that is stubbornness, but I also worry that if I lay down, I’ll find it hard to get up again. I feel on the cusp of – what? – not collapse, but…regression. I’m fucked, but thankfully there’s only a week to go.

Then there are bigger things to worry about.