And that when my hormones did their typical shift-dance, I'd crumble into a heap …
I don't remember the weekend or where the squandered time really ended up. It's hard to have to view sleeping as a crime against superproductivity. It's hard to admit that I can't have all this cake around and eat it, too. It's more than lamentable that I am missing $10,000 of worked-for money from 2008 and 2009. It's awful to be "self-employed" by proxy instead of choice — and to be dumped into paying ones own taxes for no other reason than others' horrid mismanagement.
If you're going to do something, you should do it well. I haven't written a single word (except in the virtual reality of my head) for a paper due in 24 hours. Sounds like a long time, but it's not at all, not that I am going to my shift that starts in 10 minutes.
There are only so many hours in a day (surprise!).
I am at a crossroadian impasse roadblock decisionfarm pridehiatus stopping point.
Why can't the nightgig just let us be part-timers? Why …