Spinning plates.

I think I start to understand how people become workaholics. This is my twelfth straight day in the office (some of those days have been 12 hour days) and I know that I’m not thinking normally. It’s not just tiredness, it’s a sort of weirdly energised, slightly manic state that’s fun, in a strange sort of way. Part of my just wants to crawl home, and the other half is looking around for more stuff to do.

Accordingly: talk to me. Tell me of your problems, and Solomon like, I shall solve them. Or at least cut them in half. Tell me of the thing you want, or things that you just can’t get off your mind. Tell of things of interest, or at least diverting amusement. Ask me questions.

Anything, just for god’s sake, don’t let me curl up under my desk and sleep. I’ve got all these plates to keep spinning…

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