I remembered today what it was like to be really tired, the kind of tired that hangs over you like a cloud, that works its way into your skin, like a suntan lotion or sweat from working in a summer field all day.

I’m not there now, but a little dazed and wandering by the water in Hornstull I had a flashback to that kind of fatigue.

It was the first office we had in Nakameguro, probably around 2006. I was stressed from constant pressure on the job and hadn’t been sleeping much. I worked overtime, some weekends; didn’t have a day off. I was so tired then that the only thing I could do during my lunch break was trudge across the river to the small municipal park, and lay out on the grass to drift in and out of consciousness for half an hour. This was as close to rest as I got those days. I yearned for noon when I could disappear from the office and roll around on the hard, dry earth, prostrating my body under the Japanese sun.

At first you fight it, the fact your environment is grinding you down like this, but in time you forget why you’re fighting and eventually that any other way of living existed.

Now it’s just a salty, creased memory that bleeds into the edges of feeling when fatigue and the afternoon sun mix together in just the right amount.