I am so damn tired.
People who claim to love their stressful lives -- do they really love it? Living under all that pressure? Like deep water fish, threatening explosion once they're not constantly getting crushed?
Do people just pretend for so long that they believe it?
You're just not cut out for this.
It's not for thin skinned.
It's just life.
First world problems.
You gotta toughen up, kid!
Me? Oh I love it. I love barely seeing my family and leaving before dawn and coming home close to midnight. Dedication, am I right?
It's a brand of insanity, really. I mean, I get the call to adventure. The importance of ambition. But damn, do we have to have the gas pedal all the way down, all the damn time? Where are we even going if no destination is ever good enough to stop?
It's a dirty little secret, this wish. This wish to one day just drive off the road on a whim, park my damn car somewhere, and escape into the wilderness, leaving no trace.
But of course the boredom would kill me eventually.