Write about: weariness.
Max had a slightly better sleep last night, though he's still, like his parents, struggling with his cold. Very much looking forward to everyone being healthy and sleeping reasonable lengths of time again.
Managed to get our entire potato crop in the ground today, with lots of much appreciated help. Here's hoping this year features weather that is actually conducive to a happy production of spuds.
His movements are slow and heavy, as though the bones within his body are gaining weight with each passing moment. This struggle has demanded a punishing payment but still he pays it. As though he has no choice in the matter... which is only partially true.
A rest would help. The relief of sleep, of allowing his aching, throbbing muscles to pause in their labours, could make all the difference. But he is afraid.
Afraid that stopping would lead to paralysis. That the inertia would be insurmountable. That this battle would be irreversibly lost. And he is unwilling to admit defeat, despite the mounting evidence which suggests that victory is unattainable.
So he continues on. Slowly, slowly, but still he continues on.