Just one more hour

I’m procrastinating. Procrastinating going to sleep because tomorrow I have to work. If I had the day off, I’d be sound asleep.

Because that’s the trade off. Sleep means less time for myself. Less reading, less me.
Unless I’m relaxed, in which case, it means dreams and other lives.

But I’m not relaxed. Tomorrow I work. I have it better than many. I work from home. My work is remote and its all mind, little physical. I have a good boss, a good team.
But my time, my life is not my own. And that’s hard.

Vacations don’t help. They merely serve as counterpoint to work days. Throwing into stark relief the difference between my own recognizance and work hours.

The truth is I’m burned out. Not by work necessarily, but by life. This endless grind just to exist. I want more than that.

But find myself tied down by responsibility and reality in equal measure.

I feel like screaming, STOP!!!
Hoping the world will just freeze. And for a time, I can just be. So I can heal.

But I don’t think it will ever happen. I’m too burnt out for hope.

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