You see, I was working on yesterday's blog post about poetry-related stuff, and was being very focused at the moment. I thought it was just me being startled.
But no. A bit later I got up and figured out I had hit the wall. Dropped all my spoons. Whatever metaphor you prefer, it applied, and I was fatigued.
Rather than fight it, I opted to rest for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, even taking a short nap, which enabled me to heat up dinner for the two of us, at least.
It was one of the first times I can recall being at peace with the fact that I was fatigued, even though it (once again) sneaked up on me and I didn't immediately realize or recognize it.
Today, I deliberately did creative writing stuff in the morning. Took a walk with my sweetheart after lunch, then a nap. And now, I've been using my time to do some more stuff that requires focus and energy, since it's likely I'll lose both again sometime soon.
I am, again, at peace with it. Because I can't lick it, and fighting it is senseless.