Busy. Just Incredibly Busy.

Mood Rating: 5/10

I woke up as usual, dragging myself out of bed with the same routine motions I’d repeated a thousand times before. My mind was still groggy, not fully awake, but my body already knew the drill. Shower, get dressed, grab my things, and head out the door.

The moment I stepped into the office, it was like being dropped into the middle of a storm. Work swarmed me instantly, relentless and suffocating, as if I were a lone piece of candy in a crowded piazza, drawing every hand towards me. There was no time to breathe, no moment to pause and think about anything else. My brain, still half-asleep, switched into autopilot.

Emails flooded in before I could even sit down properly. Schedule changes, last-minute tasks thrown onto my already full plate. Calls to make, messages to answer. My thoughts were consumed, almost entirely, by the relentless march of things that needed to get done. I moved through the motions like a machine, checking off one task after another, each one leading to another and another. The clock kept ticking, but my workload never seemed to shrink. Instead, it grew, stretching itself like an endless thread that refused to be cut.

By the time I finally left the office, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. My body ached, my mind was a haze of unfinished thoughts, and yet the day wasn’t over.

When I got home, the house was quiet. My mom wasn’t there, and that meant one thing—I had to prepare dinner. My brother was fasting, and it was my responsibility to make sure he had a proper meal to break it with.

Thankfully, my chicken curry from the other day was still good. I checked it, took a whiff—yep, still fine. Just needed reheating. But something about serving just that felt too plain, too simple. So, despite my exhaustion, I cracked an egg into the pan and fried it up, just to add something extra. Small effort, but it made the meal feel complete.

We ate in silence, mostly too tired to talk. The only sounds were the clinking of utensils against plates, the quiet satisfaction of food filling an empty stomach.

By 9 PM, I was completely drained. My body screamed at me to collapse into bed, to let sleep take over. I almost did. Almost. But some last shred of sanity in me insisted that I take a damn shower first.

I didn’t want to. The thought of standing under running water felt like another task, another chore. But I forced myself through it, begrudgingly. And honestly? It helped.

Freshly showered, I crawled into bed, put on Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in the background, took my pills, and let the exhaustion finally win.

A very normal adult working life.