Guys, I’m back again to either delight or disappoint you with my gorgeous photo—honestly, I couldn’t give less of a fuck. Do you use sheet masks? If not, I highly recommend them. Nothing compares to that cool, fresh feeling when you slap a cold mask straight from the fridge onto your face in the morning. Unfortunately, if a man uses one, he immediately turns gay. But not with me—I provide magical anti-gay protection! Regular price is $20, but for my subscribers, it’s just $5. Don’t waste time—buy your anti-gay protection and slap on a sheet mask!

Anyway, I actually came here to whine. If you work 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, step away from the screen.

So, I’m absolutely exhausted from work. Like, completely fucking drained. And just so you get the full picture—my job is insanely easy and comfortable. I sit in a clean office, fill out paperwork, write reports, I can drink water, stretch, or run to the bathroom whenever I want. I can even step outside and walk around if I feel like it. There’s zero stress, everything is nice, interesting, and friendly. My shift is from 10 to 1. Basically, it’s fucking amazing.

But when I get home, I’m just absolutely dead. My face looks melted, there are massive dark circles under my eyes, I yawn nonstop even though I sleep perfectly fine. I can barely move my legs—this isn’t even a metaphor, I literally feel this weird tingling sensation all over my body like I’m about to collapse. I somehow manage to do a few chores and then pass out at 7 or 8 PM. And I fall asleep instantly.

I have no idea what the hell this is. I used to do way more housework, spend way more energy, and still get a ton of things done while sleeping way less. But now? Something weird is going on. I still can’t figure out why.

And the dumbest part? I can’t even properly share this with anyone. When I try to explain it to my mom or Dasha, they’re just like, “That’s normal, we get tired too.” But come on—my mom has been working for 40 years. The first 35 of those, she had 8-hour shifts in a tough environment, she raised two kids, built houses, and was always super active. Dasha works as a consultant and sales assistant in an electronics store—she’s on her feet for 9 hours a day dealing with a constant stream of old ladies who can’t grasp what the internet or a credit card is. She has to meet sales quotas, gets pressured by management, and after work, she still goes out, runs errands, and hangs out with friends.

And then there’s me—who, after just three hours of work, can barely fucking walk. What the hell is this?