It is a Sunday afternoon fatigue. An exquisite, autumnal fatigue of irresponsible lassitude that wil lapse into long slow evening with a glass of good wine. It is a comforting fatigue where I err stateless, no particular place to go. Just waiting to drift off and be caught by the arms of sweet sleep Morpheus and I will be safe until the alarm pings in synthetic pain for the Monday mayhem and this exquisite fatigue becomes the ground down tired drudgery of work, and I finish another week on my knees.