There are people that are just born tired. Their cells combine, their mouths form, and they yawn. This isn't to say these people are bored. This isn't to say that these people lack appreciation for the world around them. These are people composed of dreams so heavy, their eyes slide closed and their limbs take on too much weight to carry.
You've never gotten enough sleep, Rip Van Winkle, dream, dream, dream.
That's what I meant when you asked me what my mother was like. Tired wasn't another word for negligent or sad. She is Alice. She sleeps underneath shady trees and dreams of chasing that white rabbit.
She wasn't perfect. But she did make little cakes, breads, jams, and tea. She just happened to sleep a lot, that's all.
Some people just have too many dreams to keep them here for very long.
I really wish I could make you understand that. You seem so antagonistic towards my childhood, my mother, my memories of her gently snoring, and my mouth full of homemade jam.