Sometimes you just wake up and it hits you—the absolute futility. My knee feels like a bag of broken glass, every step on site is a fucking performance of agony, like trying to prove I'm not a liability to guys half my age. And you know that feeling, when you're supposed to be studying some obscure historical text and all you can think about is how the hell you're gonna make it another shift without collapsing, how you're gonna keep this facade up... it's just, it's a lot.
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