I clocked 24 hours of overtime this week.

It doesn’t feel like much. It doesn’t feel like anything in terms of productivity, but it feels like exhaustion in my body. I’m not slowing down on social commitments, I’m not volunteering less, I’m not doing fewer chores (not that I’m great at keeping up with housework to begin with). I’m cooking from scratch more, which is something I can honestly say I regret after spending a whole day making ravioli from scratch. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t better than store bought.

I’m trying to keep so many plates spinning at once and I think that I might be tired, but I don’t know how to rest. I’m beginning to see, in experience and not just conceptually, a divide between what is realistic to produce and what feels sufficiently productive. I know that this is very much a result of the society in which I live, of technology clashing horribly with the very real human condition.

Was there ever a time where everyone wasn’t too focused on making a quick buck to function? I try not to let it make me cynical, but it’s hard. Part of the problem is, I know, the nature of my mind. I want too many things at once. I’m not averse to hard work. I rather enjoy it. I just can’t manage to organize my thoughts and ideas and dreams and visions and goals in a way that makes sense, to me or in context.

I love creating things. I love striving for something. I put in 24 hours of overtime this week. One whole day of my week dedicated to a passion that might never result in financial compensation, for a love of the process and the hope that someday, it might.

I love what I’m doing. I’m also tired.

BH ❤