You know that feeling when you wake up, stare at your alarm like it's personally offended you, and think, "Nope, not today." Yeah, that’s been me… for the past 87 years, or at least it feels like it.
I’m at the point where I’m not even tired anymore—I’m just tired of being tired. My energy levels are like my phone battery at 3%—surviving purely on the fumes of hope and caffeine. But do I get a break? No, ma’am! Instead, I slap a smile on my face and keep going like I’ve got my life together, when in reality, my brain’s a fried egg and my soul is doing the cha-cha right out of my body.
And don’t get me started on my “self-care.” I’ll tell myself, “Tonight, I’m going to have a bubble bath, light a candle, and do some yoga.” But instead, I end up collapsing on the couch like a sack of potatoes, scrolling on my phone until my hand cramps. Productivity who? I haven’t seen her in months.
But here’s the kicker: despite the endless, soul-sucking exhaustion, I KEEP. ON. GOING. It’s like I’m fueled by some stubborn willpower that says, “Yeah, sure, you’re running on fumes and one brain cell, but who cares? Keep doing all the things!” So, here I am, dragging myself through the day like an overcooked noodle, pretending I’ve got this.
Honestly, I deserve an award. Forget Employee of the Month—I need "Burnout Survivor of the Century."
But I guess that’s adulthood, right? We just keep showing up. Even when life feels like a dumpster fire, we push through, because who else is going to do it?
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