Enough is Enough

It’s a bit of a rant, but I’ve had it

Our washing machine was having issues this past weekend, and I was in the laundry room babysitting it and threatening it. It kept filling and refilling with water, over and over again, because it sensed it was unbalanced (it was not, but the sensor thought so), and for some reason the solution to that was to waste gallons of water. Reddit and YouTube are my favorite schools — with way different faculty, but teachers nonetheless — and the best course of action was probably to replace our Samsung washer. Fine. We didn’t like these appliances anyway; they just came with the house and were still relatively new.

I started to research new washers and dryers, and I don’t know if it’s the model numbers that are just seemingly random strings of letters and numbers, or the inability to easily distinguish the difference between models, or the fact that I don’t really care about any of the features other than I need them to wash and dry my clothes without any fucking issues… but my brain short circuited and I had to outsource the research and decision to the husband. He had who knows how many tabs open comparing spin speeds and I had zero opinions and a low simmering rage, which feels like a fair division of labor at this point in my life. Bless him.

Is it just me, or is everyone else being mentally assaulted by everything that exists in day-to-day life?

The emails, the Slacks, the texts, the phone notifications, the apps (yes, even our dear Substack), the noise, the subscriptions, the watch list, the bills, the meal planning, the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, the countless other household chores, the medical appointments, the social planning, the social outings, the hobbies… the resting??? How is even rest and relaxation kind of stressful? Yes, I had a massage recently, but I had to schedule it and fill out paperwork?

I cannot handle anything else. Enough is enough.

I also realized I cannot handle any new information at work. Not about GTM processes, not about CRMs, not about AI, not about my clients, nothing. I cannot effectively learn anything new unless I really want to learn it. And honestly, I don’t really want to learn about anything that doesn’t bring me joy. Salesforce certainly does not bring me joy. I don’t think it brings anyone joy. Other than Marc Benioff, maybe? Though I would love to see him use his company’s product. If you work there and can make this livestream happen, I’d watch it.

I had to log into my 401k account today to check something, and having to find and then change my password nearly broke me.

I don’t know if it’s old age — lol, she says, at age 39, her own mother telling her “you’re still a puppy!” — or ADHD or the state of the world or spending 18 glorious months not working full time for The Man. But I’m tired. Some days, exhausted.

This cannot be the same mind and body that endured — nay, aced — college-level courses. This cannot be the same mind and body that wrote 10 page essays the evening before they were due, without even reading the book. This cannot be the same spirit that wanted to climb the corporate ladder because I had something to prove. This cannot be the same person who had ambition. This cannot be the same person who wanted to lifemaxx or whatever the kids are saying these days.

I. Am. Tired.

I fantasize about quitting my job and going off grid into the forest. (And then I realize I like electricity and running water and the internet too much, so the forest fantasy is immediately squashed.)

The washer is still there. It was filling and refilling for a few cycles, and I figured out that if I reduced the spin speed, it would at least complete the full cycle, even if my clothes were still way damper than I’d like. 

Am I… the washer? Am I just short circuiting? Am I just doing the same thing over and over again because that’s all I can do right now? Oh god.

I’m not going to end this piece by telling you I started waking up at 5am, or blocked my calendar on Fridays, or found the one productivity system that fixed it. I didn’t. I’m still tired. The emails still come. The washer still runs… for now, until its replacement arrives next week.

But I said it out loud, which is… something.

Enough is enough. Gimme a glass of wine to take the edge off, at least.