Okay, this is probably really stupid, like, I know it's not a big deal but it's just… I don't know. So I'm a junior accountant, right? And I keep a stash of beef jerky in my desk drawer. Like, the good kind, the expensive artisanal stuff, not that crappy gas station brand. And I only eat it when my cubicle neighbors, Mark and Brenda, are out of the office. Specifically, when they're both out. It's usually like, Tuesday afternoons when Brenda has her weekly leadership huddle that runs from 2-3:30, and Mark's usually in that big project meeting on Thursdays from 10 to noon. And I wait. I literally wait until I hear their chairs scrape, the faint sound of their keycards swiping, and then I pull out a stick, usually the spicy sriracha kind, and I just… chew. Quietly. Behind my monitor, like it's a sacred ritual. And it’s not even about the jerky itself, you know? It's more about the act. The secrecy. Like, I’m 31, I’m supposed to be hitting these career milestones, looking at buying a house, thinking about kids, all that adult stuff, and here I am, sneaking beef jerky like a teenager trying to hide cigarettes from their parents. It feels… regressive? Infantilizing? Like, why can't I just eat jerky at my desk whenever I want? It's not loud, it doesn’t smell offensive, but I just CAN’T do it when they're there. It’s like this weird, almost compulsive thing. Sometimes I’ll have a whole stick out, ready to go, and then Brenda will come back early from a 'quick' coffee run and I have to shove it back in the drawer so fast, my heart actually races. It’s insane. I guess I'm trying to figure out what that's about. Like, is it a control thing? Because everything else feels so… structured. Performance reviews, quarterly targets, keeping up appearances. And this one tiny, stupid thing is mine, and it’s hidden, and it feels… liberating? And also completely embarrassing. I literally caught myself looking at my watch today, mentally calculating how long until Brenda's meeting so I could have my little jerky moment. It’s just so incredibly pathetic. Is this what a mid-life crisis feels like, but for a Millennial? Or am I just, like, pathologically unable to just exist? Seriously, anyone else do really weird, small, secret things like this? I need to know I’m not completely… unhinged.