I sat up. The alarm clock read 5:45 am. A late start.
She stirred next to me. Her eyes opened. She smiled.
I have to go, I said.
She lifted the sheets and draped an arm around my waist. Warmth from under the covers escaped like the halcyon summer heat from a distant life.
Stay in bed, she said.
I can’t, I said.
I patted her arm. She didn’t understand. The manic highs and the unbelievably low lows. The deadlines that bored holes in my stomach.
I got out of bed and dutifully raced through the morning routine: brush teeth, take shower, make coffee, chug coffee, pack bag. The morning wasn’t something to be savored, it was something to get through.
I quickly got dressed, did twenty push-ups, thirty jumping jacks, and a series of neck stretches—my abridged gym workout. To say my neck was stiff was an understatement, but the stretching helped.
I shouted goodbye to her from the hallway as I left the house.
Stay in bed, she said.
I can’t, I said.
I had been working on the same project for over one hundred and sixty-five cumulative hours in the past two weeks: a new database system for an influencer marketing agency that was selling diabetes technology on behalf of a larger pharmaceutical company.
The project had been my constant companion. I took my first few calls on the commute. When I got to the office, I immediately sat at my desk. I punched numbers into digital boxes. I clicked. I scrolled. I clicked some more. The screen emanated various colors across my face.
I was helpless to the schedule. This was what was required. Client projects had deadlines and the deadlines were yesterday and why wasn’t the project done yet, my boss asked every morning.
During my working hours, my phone lit up with alerts like a hyperactive Christmas tree. It used to take willpower not to check my phone. Now, multiple unread messages from my family thread were the norm. My sisters had adapted to my delayed response times by sending fewer pictures of their kids.
Stay in bed, she said.
I can’t, I said.
I sat in meetings about the database system. Some I was mentally present for. Others, I completely checked out of, daydreaming. In one meeting I dreamed of a Smurf army crafting origami frogs en masse. In another, I dreamed of running down my high school hallways chased by an ape-sized hamster. The meetings didn’t matter. Nothing was ever decided. The meetings were to talk about talking about the work, which even in its most constructive form, was often so abstract it was difficult for me to understand what we all did for work.
Back at my desk, I silently created more columns and rows. Occasionally, I would scroll on my phone and read threads about how I could make $30k a month from Bali by creating content, all I needed to do was unplug from The Matrix.
There was an announcement. Everyone was to come to the conference room. It was someone’s work anniversary. There was a white-plastic cake with crunchy icing in the main conference room. We all gathered. The cake said Congrats On 10 Years. The party felt like a eulogy. I wore a green and white party hat. I took an obligatory piece of cake and threw it away at my desk trash can.
Stay in bed, she said.
I can’t, I said.
After my last meeting, I allowed myself to go for a quick walk around the block.
I thought about the database system. It was the most important project for the company this quarter. And I was at the center of it: I knew all the contours of the data structures; I knew where the bodies were buried; I knew there was an influencer named Becky who charged five grand for an Instagram post and she lived in Canada and she was three weeks late sending her post caption for approval to the marketing agency who needed to forward it to the pharmaceutical company who needed to forward it to their lawyers for red-lining and then all of that information would make its way back through the tunnels of the database and end up in Becky’s inbox for review and revision.
I knew these things and they gave me heartburn.
Stay in bed, she said.
I can’t, I said.
Leaves cracked beneath my tennis shoes. I looked around. I could hear birds chirping. Finches, the color of daffodils. I listened to the wind and the slow hum of traffic.
Something rustled down the block. A car engine started. Distant words were exchanged somewhere. I tried to remember where I was. I grabbed the bridge of my nose and squeezed until everything turned black. I tried not to panic.
I blinked my eyes open once, twice. I thought of her.
Stay in bed, she said.
I can’t, I said.