That eskimo thing

It is often mentioned that the eskimo have 19 different words for snow. Or is it some other number? some other ethnic group? never mind. Point is, when you are living the same thing a lot, you start to distinguish tiny nuances and develop the vocabulary to describe them.
Why do we have such little specificity for the various shades of fatigue?
Sophie has begun to really sleep now, going from 8pm to 7:30 am without a peep as of last Wednesday. In the 15 weeks since her arrival, Mike and I have traveled the region of fatigue hither and thither, and we check in with each other on how we slept, how we feel. There are numerous microclimates of fatigue that bear better vocabulary. There is the wonderful fatigue of relief. There is the foul mood of not having slept at all, or worse, having slept tiny dribs and drabs while in an uncomfortable position. There is the nervy sensation of having had a chance to really sleep, but not being able to. Right now, after seven nights of 8-hour sleeps, we're not rid of the thing yet, but it's even harder to describe. At first, I was hyper. Today I was still very unfocused, but my memory seems to be returning, bits of trivia and the recollection of projects left unfinished flooding into my brain. I have to write little notes to myself but the items don't fall into proper lists. I did manage to organize everything for the filing of taxes, but my brain seems stuck like a scratched record on reminding me to do so. Suddenly I remember where I had hidden that high-pitched toy Chloe got and then I forget again. I know I have big things to attend to, but during my afternoon break while the girls nap, I draw a complete blank, I can't nap but I end up getting lost in minute reorganization. All this description, wouldn't it be interesting to say "I feel besplotched" or "I am dipply" and everyone would know what I was saying. QED.