This month’s word is fruit, meaning “any product of plant growth useful to humans or animals”, “anything produced or accruing; product, result, or effect; return or profit” or “to bear or cause to bear fruit”.

It’s very late, I know. I’m hoping to be up to date by the end of the year.

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I’m so hungry, but there’s nothing but fruit available. Piles of crunchy apples, bright oranges, furry brown kiwi fruit, bananas turning from yellow to brown, a mixed bowl of raspberries, blueberries and blackberries. So many options, and I hate all of them.

Fruit. It sucks, and yet they buy nothing else for me, in the vain hope that I’ll give in and eat some due to my growing hunger.

But they underestimate my hatred of fruit, my stubbornness and my hunger-fueled ingenuity. You won’t catch me eating fruit. I’d rather eat the rats I hear scratching in the walls. I’d eat nettles, spinach, sprouts before I’d let a banana touch these lips.

And yet, fruit.

Everywhere, fruit.

So. Much. Fruit.

They say it’s good for me, but I say it’s gross, disgusting, horrible. None for me, thanks, I say, and wave it away.

I hope (I hope!) I can outlast them, that they give in before I do, because I just. Hate. Fruit.

But here they come with more fruit, as if these will tempt me where all others have failed. I suppose they have to say they’ve tried.

I wish they’d just bring me a carrot.

© bardofupton 2021

This month’s word is sleepy, meaning “ready or inclined to sleep; drowsy”, “of or showing drowsiness”, “languid; languorous”, “lethargic; sluggish”, “quiet” or “inducing sleep; soporific”.

It’s very late, I know. I’m sorry.

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I’m so tired all the time, always sleepy, eyes drifting closed every time I sit, or even if I just slow down.

A slow heaviness presses me down, turning air to mud, an effort to walk, speak, breathe.

I can’t remember the time before. Was there a time before? My brain works slowly, badly; thoughts slip away almost before they’re finished. I can’t recall, can’t think, can’t… I just can’t.

I’m forgetting things, my fingers fumbling with actions I’ve done a million times. I stumble over nothing, my feet forgetting to lift from the floor.

I want it to stop. I want to wake up, and feel awake, alert, refreshed. I want to feel anything but this exhaustion.

But it just goes on, and on. I… Is this it, forever? Please, let it get better. Let the fog lift, even if just for a day. Please.

© bardofupton 2021