I know I’m not the only one—living paycheck to paycheck, barely keeping it together. And at some point, you just say: f**k it—I need more.
I show up. I clock in on time. I give my best, teach others, carry dead weight, smile through it.
But I’m tired. Tired of coming home to my husband, venting about co-workers I don’t like, and co-workers who think we’re friends.
Tired of giving 40 hours of my life every week just to be a dollar short.
To overdraft.
To borrow from parents—while being a parent.
This is life?
This is the “American Dream”?
Because I must’ve missed the dream part.
I’m dreamed out.
Give me the immigrant dream—of sitting outside, shirt off, sweating in the thick heat of my homeland.
Peacefully. Present. Unplugged.
We vacation in these countries, right? We call that freedom.
So why do I plug into this system—day and night—for a country that wouldn’t blink if I broke?
I don’t need more hustle.
I need a reset.
I want to love my work again.
But love don’t pay the bills—and that’s the truth I’m sitting in.



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