Chapter One: The Wheel
The alarm goes off at 6:12, because 6:00 felt too harsh and 6:15 felt like losing. You know the rest. Shower, inbox, commute, inbox, a meeting about the inbox.
By Thursday you are tired in a way a weekend doesn't fix, and by Sunday night you can feel Monday leaning on the door.
Here is the strange part: none of it is failing. You are doing everything you were told would add up to a good life. So why does it feel like running in place?
