"You got enough of me today."
I close my laptop. A weight I had previously not recognized lifts off of my chest. My lungs taste air for the first time in hours.
I look outside. It's dark out. My home becomes an illuminated crib staving off the box of nighttime's creation. It feels cognizant, like if I were to step outside it'd know. It keeps me in.
Provisions gathered in daylight see me through to tomorrow, where the ritual begins anew.