I don’t know what’s happening.
Because, damn it, clocking close to eleven hours at work daily, inclusive of weekends, does this to you.
It hides your days and haunts your nights.
It dulls your senses and makes you half blind.
It leaves you in a state of despair and disrepair.
And then you think, damn: I really need to get back to work. Now.
(This had better be worth it.)