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“You look tired!”
I hear this comment more times a day than any other. It trumps “I love you” from my boyfriend, “do you ever show up on time?” from my officemates, and “please see below” from every e-mail forwarded from my supervisor. I hear it from clients, coworkers, my boss, and random passersby on the street. Its time knows no limits — my ears are ringing with this comment at 8 a.m., noon, and 4:30 p.m. I hear it when I drag myself into work and I hear it when I go home and throw myself into leggings and a top bun. To everyone who tells me that I look tired, I have a message for you:
I look tired because I am exhausted all of the time.
There is never a moment that I’m not exhausted. I wake up at 5:00 a.m., get a cup of Keurig coffee while I wait for my pot of coffee to brew, check e-mails from my boss, shower (bonus points if I remember to shave both legs), refill my coffee, respond to e-mails from my boss, take out the dog, drive to work while trying not to stab my eye out with my mascara wand, hold meetings, try to catch up on the onslaught of emails that came during my meetings, use my lunch to take the dog out again, hold more meetings, stay late at work, get halfway caught up on emails while driving home, multitask cleaning and cooking dinner while barely accomplishing either, eat in bed while responding to more emails, take the dog out again, and fall asleep to an old episode of Mad Men with my iPad on my lap while waiting on yet another email response.
In an effort to keep my apartment halfway presentable, actually succeed at my job, and take care of another living creature, I live my life like I’m starring in The Walking Dead. Come in early for a 7 a.m. meeting? Sure. Happy hour with the coworkers after a long day? Why not. Meet up with friends for dinner? Yeah, ok. Each of these things I will happily do, but for every additional commitment, I find myself mentally checking off the hours of sleep I know I won’t get again tonight.
Oh sure, we have the weekends to “catch up.” But between cleaning and getting life in order from the week, running all of the errands you don’t have time for Monday through Friday, meal prep, gym, and trying to get ahead on your work e-mails, how much time do you really have? Yeah, it’s probably negative. Weekends are just the workdays of your home life, and the more you accomplish, the more your “regrouping” time dwindles away.
Doctors say you should get eight hours of sleep a night, but only babies, teenagers, and college students know that’s possible. If you get a full night’s sleep, things start getting cut. Forget doing the dishes, the laundry will remain unfolded, and your friends will think you’ve died for all the time you see them. Your relationships suffer, e-mails start going unnoticed, and soon you’ll be unemployed, where you can finally appear well-rested. Sure, I could get eight hours of sleep every night. But my life would also completely fall apart, and that’s just not a risk I’m willing to take.
So yes, dear coworker, friend, or random acquaintance, I look tired, and that’s because I AM tired. You have made “you look tired” the “it’s raining outside” of the physical appearance genre of office smalltalk. I’d bet that the majority of the people who are succeeding in your office look tired. Guess what? They’re exhausted too. While you nap away and watch Netflix on your self-given hour and a half lunch break, the rest of us are holding the world together so that you can slack off to the level you think you deserve. No judgment — you do you — but for the love of god, please stop informing me that I don’t look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I appreciate your attempt at small talk, but when your idea of interoffice relationships is telling me how terrible I look for doing my job, I think I’ll pass..
Image via Shutterstock
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Steph W.
Steph W. is a new Master's degree graduate with an intern's salary and six-figure taste. She realizes her expectations far exceed reality, so she spends her days pinning away Loubs she pretends are in her physical closet instead of her virtual one. Her hobbies include attempting to trapping her boyfriend into marriage before he finds out how insane she is and pretending that Black Box wine tastes as good as the kind she could afford when she was gainfully employed. Send her tips for getting out of student debt at recruitchairtsm@gmail.com
@therecruitchair
The true tragedy here is the number of times in a week your boyfriend hears you say “I’m too tired” before you throw him a pity “make it quick.”
Had to tell my coworkers I suffer from a sleeping disorder when I was caught napping at my desk once.
I know a little white girl named Charlie that could help you out.
This is too real. I started setting my alarm clock 15 minutes earlier because that’s how long it takes to gather the will to stand, and push the daily unease down with the other emotions where they’ll quietly form an ulcer instead of making me feel things. Doctors tell people to sleep 7-10 hours a day but I work in a hospital and I don’t know a damn person who sleeps more than 6 continuous hours. Hell, yesterday I saw some med student asleep in some tiny chair in a corner. Seeing him awkwardly folded up in a desperate attempt to get just enough sleep to function made me so frustrated. That’s my nap corner, dammit.
The amount of things I’m putting into my system to keep me going (let alone what I do to get enough energy to go to the gym) is probably taking years off my life but at least it works. People can judge all they want as I pour a 5 Hour Energy into my black coffee, I doubt I’ll make it past 45 the way I work 7 days a week and binge drink like I’m in college again whenever I get the chance (the man wearing nothing but his underwear straightens slightly from his position over his laptop, eyeing the sparse collection of whisky and malt liquor on the corner of his desk. “Soon,” Shambles whispers to himself).
It’s okay though, because I have just enough time to catch up on The Bachelorette while eating a comically large bowl of cereal before crawling into bed at 8pm. Again.
TL;DR
sounds terrible
A little concealer under the eye does wonders. Will make you look awake and bright-eyed even if you’re totally not feeling it.
Euthanize the dog. Problem solved.
I was going to tell you to fuck off, but thought, “eh, don’t get worked up by some anon troll online”…Then I changed my mind. Fuck off Bretton. People don’t euthanize their kids just because they require committment. Why should someone euthanize their dog for the same reason?
Life is tough get a helmet, grow the fuck up, and stop throwing yourself a pitty party.
Learn how to spell pity
He’s just mad Bill Snyder is old and will retire soon. Then Kansas State football will suck again.
Hey fuck you sir, Bill is never going to die!!!