You know that feeling when you've been running on empty for so long and then suddenly, something clicks, and you're just… going? Not in a good way, really, more like the engine light is on and you’re still pushing 80 on the highway and your wife asks how your day was and you just say, ‘Oh, it was GREAT. So much energy!’ And you mean it, sort of, even though you just spent six hours staring at a spreadsheet and none of the numbers stuck and you couldn't even tell her what the big meeting was about later that day. It's like you’re powered by something else entirely, not sleep or food or actual brain cells, but by the sheer momentum of pretending everything is fine and you’re still sharp and you’re still useful and you’re still worth the paycheck, and it’s a big paycheck now, bigger than anything my dad ever dreamed of, but it feels like it’s slipping through my fingers like sand. And you think, 'I've earned this. I worked my whole life for this.' But then you realize you’ve been saying that for twenty years, and the finish line just keeps moving further away and you’re just running faster and faster into the dark. It’s like… you remember when you were a kid and you'd spin around until you were so dizzy you couldn't stand up straight? And the world would just blur and you’d laugh and fall down, but you knew you could stop whenever you wanted. But now it’s like that, all the time, this constant spinning, and you can’t quite catch your breath and everything’s a little fuzzy around the edges, and you laugh but it’s a nervous laugh, and you know you SHOULD stop, but you don't actually know HOW. And you keep telling yourself, 'Just one more push, just one more deal, just get through this week,' and then next week comes and it’s the same old tune, and you're just tapping your foot to the beat and pretending it's a song you actually like. And you tell your spouse, 'Oh, these sixty-hour weeks? They really get me going!' And you genuinely believe it for a second, because the alternative… well, the alternative is looking at what you’ve built, or what you haven't built, and you just don't have the energy for that. Not anymore. And you think about your old man, busting his back at the factory, every single day, just to keep the lights on and food on the table, and he never complained, not really, and he always knew exactly what he was doing and why. And you look at yourself, supposed to be this hotshot lawyer, and you can't even focus on a single page of text, not really, not unless it's got big bold headlines and pictures, like a comic book. And you tell yourself it’s just a phase, it’s just the stress, but you know deep down it’s more than that. It’s like the battery’s almost gone and you’re just running on fumes and hope, and a little bit of fear, a BIG bit of fear, that it’s all going to come crashing down and you won’t have anything left to show for it but a pile of papers you can’t even read anymore. And you just want someone to say, 'It’s okay,' but you don't even know what ‘it’ is.