I don’t even know why I’m writing this, just kinda staring at my phone screen in the dark, another Tuesday night and I’m just… tired. Like, physically, emotionally, spiritually, whatever that even means anymore. It’s the steakhouse thing again tomorrow, and I just dread it, honestly. Every single week, same place, same time, same forced laughter. It’s supposed to be a team bonding thing, right? Like, a reward for working our butts off on this new campaign, but for me it’s just this whole elaborate charade. I’m a graphic designer, you’d think I’d be able to draw up a better excuse, but nope. Every damn week, there I am, smiling, nodding, making small talk about the latest football game or some stupid office gossip while everyone around me is tearing into these giant slabs of meat. And I’m vegan, like, hardcore vegan, for years now. Not in a preachy way, I just… can’t. My body just rejects it now, after so long. But try explaining that to Mark, my boss, who’s like, super old school, you know? He probably thinks veganism is some kind of yoga cult or something. He’s the type who says things like “real men eat meat” without a hint of irony, and he just loves these weekly steak fests. Says it’s about tradition, building camaraderie, whatever. And I just know, like deep down, that if I said anything, anything at all about not wanting to go, or even just picking at a salad every time, I’d be labeled. INSTANTLY. “Difficult.” “Fussy.” “Not a team player.” And in this economy, in this city, with rent being what it is… I just can’t afford to be difficult, you know? So I sit there, pushing around my sad little plate of steamed asparagus and a baked potato, trying to look enthusiastic, making some joke about saving room for dessert (which I then don’t eat, obviously). It's exhausting, this performance. And sometimes I just wonder, what am I even doing? Is this what being a grown-up is? Just silently enduring things that make you feel… kinda gross inside, just to keep the lights on? Feels like I’m losing a piece of myself, week by week, one expensive, unwanted steak dinner at a time. It's just... dull. The fakeness of it all. Like, maybe it’s not even about the steak anymore, it’s about this whole life I’m kinda pretending my way through.