Horror of horrors

This, then, is the look of terror, and not some narcissistic selfie.

Better yet:

This is the look of sheer terror that has been in its pajamas since 17h30 already:

A silent protest against stress and work and sick children.
 

Note frantic eyes, disheveled hair and hipster-esque glasses: 

I keep thinking those glasses will MAKE me clever.

(They don't)

I am melting down, dear reader.

Fast.

Son#2 vomitted the day away yesterday, still full of energy, mind you.

I've noticed that he can fall asleep with his face pressed up against the wall whilst listening to bedtime stories.

I keep reading even after he has lulled off: the rhythm of reading is soothing and makes me calm.

I still have 200 pages to study before Thursday.

But I'm thinking that this kind of reading won't be making me feel calm at all.

All children, whether with pneumonia or gastrointestinal viruses or whine-itis were sent to school.
I have a mountain of real work I'm running behind on, never mind the studying.
And I'd better do it all, before I am found out to be the fraud that I feel like.
They should call it the 'fraudulent forties', you know.
I'm at that age where I realize that I know nothing, really.
Nothing about nothing.

.