We’re moving out in sixteen days. I’ve packed four boxes so far.

I have a pile of letters that need responding to. I need to sort out utilities for the new house, yet I don’t feel like doing any of it.

I think the stress of the last few years, coupled with the stress of moving, has caught up with me. I am beyond tired, but I can’t sleep properly at night as I wake constantly thinking about what I need to do.

Tom is still the same; he is doing silly little things to try to annoy me, such as deciding that the chair I’ve always sat in is now more comfortable, and he wants to sit there now. It’s something new every day; it’s wearing me out. It takes all of my last energy not to rise to him.

I keep telling myself that all this will be over soon and it’ll be worth it, but it’s still not motivating me at all.