Sometimes you just… you hit a wall, you know? And it’s not even a big wall. Just a little flimsy partition, maybe even just like, a curtain. But it feels like Everest. And you climb it anyway, every day, and nobody even sees you doing it. They just see you on the other side, looking… normal. You know that feeling when you're just *done*? Like, really, truly done. And it's not even about the big stuff. It’s the small stuff that just piles up like junk mail. And then someone, some unsuspecting poor soul, they just… they nudge one of those little piles. And it all just tumbles down. That happened today. At work. Which is, you know, just great. Mid-afternoon. I was trying to figure out this new spreadsheet thing – because apparently my entire job description changed overnight, again – and my dad had a rough night. Really rough. He was just… not comfortable. And when he’s not comfortable, nobody’s comfortable. So I’d been up since like, 3 AM, trying to reposition him, check the pressure sores, all that fun stuff. And then trying to get him fed and dressed before the aide got there, because sometimes they’re late, and you can’t just leave him, obviously. Anyway, I was staring at these numbers, and my brain felt like it was full of cotton wool. And then Brenda from Accounting, she comes over. Brenda. God love her, she's… she’s just very Brenda. She asks me, she says, "Oh, did you remember to cc everyone on that email about the office coffee machine rotation?" And I mean, I don't even— whatever. The coffee machine. That stupid coffee machine. The one that’s always broken anyway. And I just… snapped. I just looked at her, and I think my voice was really low, which is probably scarier than yelling. I said, "Brenda, honestly, the coffee machine email is the LEAST of my concerns right now. Just forward it if it's so important." And I didn't smile. Not even a fake office smile. I just stared at her. Her eyes got all wide, like little saucers, and she just kind of… backed away. Like I was a feral animal. Which, you know, maybe I was. For a second. The second she was gone, it was like a cold water dump. The guilt. Oh my god, the guilt. It just hit me so hard. Like, she’s just doing her job. She's just Brenda. She didn't deserve that. Nobody deserves that. And it’s not her fault my life is… this. And then you just sit there, in your cubicle, pretending to work, but all you can think about is her face. And your dad’s face from this morning, when he was just trying to tell me his back hurt, and I was so tired I just wanted to scream, but you can’t. You can’t scream at the person who literally can’t move. So you just… absorb it. And then it comes out sideways, at Brenda, about the coffee machine. It’s almost funny, isn’t it? The absurdity of it all. You just gotta laugh sometimes, otherwise you’d probably just curl up under your desk. I mean, it’s not even just today. It’s been… building. For years, really. You spend your life trying to get ahead, you know? Get the house, the kids, the career. And then one day, you wake up and you’re just… treading water. Barely. And you’re watching yourself, almost like from the ceiling, doing all the things. Sending the emails. Making the dinner. Cleaning the spills. And you’re just thinking, “Is this really me? Am I this person now?” It’s a strange thing, to feel like a stranger in your own skin. I keep thinking about Brenda. I should apologize. I will. Tomorrow. Or maybe Monday. When I’ve, you know, had a chance to become a human being again. For now, it’s just… another night. Another 2 AM wake-up call, probably. And another day of just trying to hold it all together, pretending that a coffee machine email is the biggest problem in the world. Because sometimes, it just feels like it is.