I am fucking hungry.
Occasionally (and I had to retype that word several times because for some reason I always forget how many c’s and s’s there should be in that word)… anyway, occasionally, I find myself starving myself because I’m overworking. It’s some crazy idea and strategy (but really, in hindsight, not so much) that allows me to do all the work I need to do. There’s always that fear of not finishing something if I decide to proceed with my day as usual. So sometimes, I find the need to skip meals. And that ladies and gentlemen is the real definition of (very) slow and painful killing. Subconsciously, I subscribe to the belief that one must sacrifice his health in order to gain wealth (and enjoy its perks) later on. Well, so far, I have sacrificed my health and not gained wealth. FML.
One lunchtime last week, I brought up the idea of wanting a dog and/or a girlfriend. Apparently, I have none of both. As work was quite light last week, someone blurted out that they’re surprised I had time to think about and look for those things. Because trust me, I have been bugging some friends to help me find one. It suddenly became apparent, more so than it should already be: work is taking away my time for a relationship. Whether with a dog or a girl. That mini-eureka moment was as if a theorem turned into a postulate (or perhaps, it has really been a postulate all this time, only I refused to treat it as one). Too much work = very little/non-existent love life.
*Karoshi is the Japanese word for death from overwork.