"I didn't do it. It wasn't me."

That's pretty much for certain, today.
"We didn't do nothin'. "
(Unnecessary film reference, just because I felt like it.)

A carry-on from yesterday, I think, but still for no obvious reason that I can see, except the CFS being capricious.
The weather hasn't even been tempting me into the garden.

However today, one event required me to reach inside, stiffen the sinews and summon up the blood.
(Actually some of those sinews felt pretty stiff to start with.)
But the Herculean (Olympic, Titanic?) task was faced and undertaken, and I was at least washed and dressed before I had to open the door to my cleaner at 11 o'clock.
But I was pretty much heading for unconsciousness on the bean bag in front of the television by 11:15.
And I neither heard my cleaner leaving, nor the postman trying to deliver a package.
In one sense, I suppose, I was "out" when he called.

Just over a week before my occupational therapist visits again, to find out how I've been doing.  Coping?
"Coping" is an interesting word, when you consider its differing usages and origin.  And I do, since I like to use words properly.

Am I coping, or only coping?  But that's for another time, and noting that is itself more evidence of fatigue, because I don't put down special interests that easily.