That the older you get while on your own, the less and less you like afternoons and evenings. They are just empty and they don’t love you at all. If you try to fill them with something, it feels forced and artificial, like you’re trying to have a life but are really just making it all up. If you don’t try to fill them with anything, it’s just you… very conspicuously just you.
Work is asking me if I want overtime. And here I sit actually considering it. Look at me. I live alone in Southern California working in a cubicle all day and coming home to a laptop at night. I’m everything I most fear becoming. The world has raped me.