Up that jelly hill, under water

So tired this week. I feel like I'm walking under water, or through jelly, or up a hill that is not very steep but goes on and on past the horizon. This morning I woke up when the alarm went off then fell asleep for another 35 minutes--only thing that got me out of bed was my arm, which had also fallen asleep. Anyway, my tired draggyness has mucked up my gymming and my writing (I have a new little project, which I'm enjoying) so I am in self-loathing mode. My commute book this week is Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi and when I compare my fatigue and sick ham to their ayatollahs and chadors I loathe myself even more. So it just feeds itself, you see?
Speaking of sick hams--Vodka is doing well. Every evening we have to put lady cream on his tummy, and under his chin, and on his legs--all the places he's rubbed his fur off with scratching, poor little pet. It is a two-person operation. Tim holds him by the scruff of his neck and I spread the cream on while he kicks and shakes with fear. It is a pathetic sight.