I was tired... I don't know why this should have come back now, except that I remembered how good it had felt to do nothing then and sit there resting my puffed-up feet, not caring or worrying over anything else. I'd been tired, but it wasn't the same as the feeling this spring: not the tiredness of long waiting and doing things month after month with no change. Nor was there the weight of all these things - I wished I were ten years younger, or ten older! If I were younger, they would not exist, and older - I could learn to accept them. I wished there were someone I could tell all this to. If it had been told, it would not have weighed me down so much. But I could not tell anyone here and go on living with them, knowing they knew and were thinking about it, staring at me with this in their minds. They would have been kind, I know, but kindness is sour comfort.