It's been 9-12 hours days, for 6 days a week, for the last month. This week has been a particularly busy one. Hardly any meetings, hardly anything other than full-out work. No socializing. Nothing. Just all of those hours working, concentrating, starring blindly at the computer.
And that means just one thing: I've got nothing left to give. I don't wanna talk on the phone. I don't wanna email people. In the last week my Twitter stream of conscience is practically non-exsistent. I just want to come home and crash.
And crashing is something I'd actually really love to do, however, there is so much work to do even when I do get home the brain is going a mile a minute. Not even Winter Wipeout can shake it, though it helps. Even as I type this I'm thinking of the work I have to accomplish this week-end. The only thing I keep thinking about is the hard deadline for 3 books on February 18th. February 19th… then I'll crash.
To put it simply… I'm pooped.