The tiredness leaks out of my bones and poisons every tissue it can reach. An acquaintance arranges for me to meet “an enclave of weirdo hipster techie creators,” and all I can think is, I’m tired. It’s too easy to sink comfortably under the surface of it. Not good enough. Sometimes it feels like the last fifteen years of my life have been a fight against exhaustion. Eventually the exhaustion will win. But not yet. Not fucking yet.

 

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