“Deals don't keep hours.” That's what we said at the firm, half joke, half badge. Nobody complained about the short nights, so I didn't either.
By nine I could barely keep my eyes open at my desk. By eleven, lights off, I was wide awake: tomorrow's meeting, today's mistake, no way to turn it down.
Then the rest of me started to slip. My workouts stopped paying off. Same sessions in the gym, less to show for them, and less in the tank every week.
My drive went too. For work, for training, for everything. I couldn't hold my focus through a meeting, and the 3 o'clock coffee became the 3 and the 5 o'clock coffee.
I snapped at people over details that didn't matter and forgot the ones that did. The people who knew me best stopped asking if I was okay.
