It's a feeling I've become familiar with since gaining full-time employment. People say you have more freedom as an adult but I've found I have less freedom as I became an adult in both the physical sense and the emotional sense. Prior to December 2014 I had a rather active life: I'd run and lift weights on the regular, I'd frequently go hiking at a nearby state park, I'd go to movies sporadically. Then I got a part-time job and the hikes went away. A couple years elapsed until December 2016 when I got a full-time job in addition to the part-time job. It was Hell. In 2017 there was never a week without mandatory overtime. I quit seeing movies because I never had the time and I quit working out because my body couldn't hold up. It got so bad there were a few weekends where I didn't sleep for over 36 hours. Eventually, the same month I started this blog, I quit my part-time job. The overtime only got worse. It peaked a 66 hours one week, but it regularly fluctuated between 50 and 60 hours for the rest of the year.
A curious thing happened in 2018; I didn't work any overtime from January 1st to July 1st. I was able to start exercising semi-regularly again. I was (somewhat) happy again. But then the 50-hour week hit on the 4th of July with a vengeance. Now 50 hours look to be the norm for the foreseeable future. The only real joy I've had recently is adding piecemeal to a fictional story I've been working on for years. But on Friday I found something I've been missing for two decades: a kindred spirit.
