I’m not sleeping. I have been an insomniac ever since I can remember but this is beginning to feel different. The work seems to have no timeframe. I could rework a design a thousand times over and still be unhappy with the result. The journey is what matters, not the work, but the journey is so long, costly, and making me just a little bit crazy. There are not enough hours in a day to get everything done that I want to. But no worries, I can make time, I can carve it out of the dark hours of the night for myself. Just a few minutes here, some hours there and I can take more out of the day.
It’s my secret weapon.
No matter what I will get it done. The mind of a workaholic is infuriating. Staying up later and later is a compulsion, an addiction, but the scariest thing about it is that I think it’s the reason for my success. I feel compelled to make every work as perfect as possible. Though I have worked hard to give up that push to perfection long ago, that feeling still lingers, like a creeping and ever looming shadow there is always something to be done.
Free time is suffocating.
The quiet relief of doing nothing stands no chance against the rising tide of panic that I should be doing something else. But the worst part of it all is not suffering the consequences of my own actions, it’s the reward of the hard work. No matter the cost I will be the hardest worker.
I love it, I live for it, and I truly wish I didn’t trade sleep for it.