Every night I stay up later than the last.
Surely this can’t continue like this? There has to come a point where night turns to dawn. Or there would, if the loss of sound mind and body wasn’t an inevitability bound to happen long before that. At the rate we’re traveling, mere human adaptability isn’t sufficient for keeping up.
It’s not a voluntary thing, oh no. Sharing waking hours with colleagues is nice, but so is seeing the sun during this long, cold winter. It’s just, the dead of night has an effect on me, on my tiring brain. It spurs me on, to keep going, and going, and going. This still needs to be done. About time I figure that out. Sure, I’ll add this to the pile.
There’s no end, I tell you. No end. Madness will consume me long before I realize productivity’s a thing of the past. We were not made for this, oh no. We were not made to live during the dark hours.
We were made to sleep. Obediently.