There comes a point where the mind can no longer deal with so many tasks, pressures, and concerns, and extraneous thought is all culled subconsciously. It’s no longer about winning, losing, or fighting, normal operation is put on hold to keep sanity together until the siege passes. This is the time where you experience the most memory loss during development. ‘Where did those weeks go? I don’t remember doing anything that season at all.’ You do not remember anything because there wasn’t anything worth remembering, you’re just a machine that replies to emails and ticks off tasks. I don’t know if this is what they call burnout, it’s probably just north of burnout, somewhere in the moors of primordial coping.
It’s a little bit like being on a mild depressant, novel at first in the unique perspective you gain temporarily– walking straight up, your focus drifting vapidly between objects in the mid to far distance. There is an odd sense of calm unbefitting of such a tragic erosion or one’s most precious resource, time.
Everything outside of work is sacred, and the slightest hint of compassion almost drives you to tears. It makes me wonder what kind of man I am to live like this.
To the artist I hope to find something beautiful and more significant than all the hours in and out of the office I spend worrying about that kind of nonsense.
To loving the rocking of a train, the dew that collects in the backs of my elbows, to some kind of magic always around me that I am too foolish to see. To finding some meaning and something truly worth investing in.
