It’s a Monday afternoon. I had a meager lunch because I forgot to eat and then didn’t want to put mental energy into making lunch. My hair is still soppy from the shower and smells cloyingly like bananas. President Trump doesn’t know when or why the U.S. Civil War occurred. In my inbox, I have several requests for due date extensions, and with each request, I am required to question my compassion and my boundaries. My partner just got home, and we have to negotiate who will make dinner. I still have three hours of grading I intended to do today.
But there are three words a leader can’t say: I am tired.