Someone finally paid me. So I got a manicure


It’s nearly 3am, and I’m finally ready to stop working and go to sleep.

I’ve been working at a fever pitch from the minute I wake up until I fall into bed at night. It’s not healthy, but when I’m worried, that’s all I know to do: work like crazy and hope some of that turns into peace of mind.
As an adult, I can finally admit that my favorite book is not 1984, like I told people in college. It’s Animal Farm, and not for the biting social commentary, or the fact that it seems to be more and more relevant with every passing year, but because I relate to that damn horse so much. I am unable to see any solution other than harder work for longer hours.

And when it kills me, it will make just as much of an impact on the world as that horse’s death made on the farm. Because instead of navigating the complicated reality of actual social interaction, I work. The fact that I’m not making any money in exchange for all this work is one of the only ways I can actually tell that it’s not healthy activity. And I even doubt that out of the time.

I tell myself I’m working for a future. But doesn’t every workaholic? But if I’m not going to work, honestly, what would I do? I am having a very hard time figuring out whether this is noble or stupid.

Usually, I have a hard time because it’s stupid, I just don’t want it to be.