There’s always gonna be something else to do. You’re gonna be great at inventing reasons to just finish the thing and move on.

You’re gonna say “well… alright” with a little inflection up at the end for keen ears to catch, offering a smidgen of solidarity for your buddies in the trenches.

You’re gonna practice saying “I told you so” before the ball even drops. You might even feel uneasy about that.

“Work-life balance” will enter your mental vocabulary again, but who knows what that really means, anyway.

Your phone will ring; your eyes will roll. You’ll pick up, anyway.

“Guess what? There’s something else to do.”

And you’ll do something else.

Just finish the thing.

Move on.

Fuck you.

Yeah, fuuuuck you.

Where’s the fuck you?

Where’s that healthy amount of back pressure to insulate
from the bullshit,
from the drudgery,
from the yes please may I have another?

Where’s the little kid giggling at the substitute teacher’s vacant threats?

There’s always gonna be something else to do. Trust, it’ll be there tomorrow, too. For now, fuck you, I’m gonna play.

(Spoken from a privileged position you might find yourself in one day.)