This time last year, I don’t believe I had ever heard the phrase “pandemic fatigue.” Now it’s in headlines everywhere I look and I feel it in the marrow of my bones.

Pandemics are exhausting.

Before the pandemic, Nathan was not a napper. Now he almost never misses his afternoon siesta. I have gone from needing eight hours of sleep and bouncing out of bed at 6 a.m. to needing nine hours of sleep and still feeling weary when 7 a.m. comes around.

I am in the midst of a slump. Last week, I had lots of vibrant sparkling energy. But then Saturday morning, I woke up feeling utterly exhausted. Now it’s Monday and I still feel drained.

When I had postpartum depression, I often experienced a fatigue that felt as if gravity was pulling extra hard on my bones and muscles. Fatigue is now one of my depression red flags. I have been on high alert since Saturday morning and trying to ascertain whether I am in the depression zone of fatigue. After a mental health inventory, I have concluded that I am not. My mental health is chugging along merrily. My exhaustion comes from a very understandable case of pandemic fatigue.

The difference between “pandemic fatigue” and “depression fatigue” is important, so I’m going to try to be a little more precise with my experience.

When I had postpartum depression, I lost my zest for life. It was not so much that I felt too tired to do things; it was that I completely forgot about all the things I enjoy doing. I was listless, dull and apathetic. I forced myself to smile and laugh. I was disengaged from life. I was disengaged from myself.

Right now, I am tired but I have not lost my zest for life. On Saturday, I sat on the couch and looked through a bunch of library cookbooks, plotting all the recipes I want to try. Then I listened to audiobooks and worked on a punch needle project. On Sunday, despite my exhaustion, I still went out and bought a new armchair because our trusty old armchair is about to turn into a pile of ash. I am tired, but I still want to do things.

And here’s the big difference between pandemic fatigue and depression fatigue: I am writing. When I was depressed, I forgot that writing is my divine call. But I have not stopped writing during this pandemic. So long as I am writing, I know that I am not depressed.

I am just very, very, very tired of this effing pandemic.