The Burnout

by Sophie Kinsella

I have a bullet journal, which came with colored felt tips. You’re supposed to write out all your tasks, color-code them, and tick them off. But who has time for that?

Let's back to the basic, where the only things we need are pen and papers.

How am I supposed to have time to reflect? How can I feel joyful when I’m constantly gripped by panic? How am I supposed to write down my aspirations when my only aspiration is stay on top of life and I’m failing at that?

Maybe I could lead a different life too. Get a different job, move flats, change everything up. It just requires impetus. I need impetus. A sign from the universe, maybe.

“That’s just sad,” he says. “Someone like you. It’s sad.”

This is what you have to do in life: just say “No,” without explaining further. I’m not saying I feel comfortable doing that, but I’ve seen it on Instagram. It’s what successful people do.

“Run for your life!”

The “holiday” is a myth. Holidays are worse than normal life. You still deal with emails but on an uncomfortable sun lounger instead of at a desk.

I can’t do anything. I’m out of energy, out of decision-making. Out of everything.

“Stressed?” I retort. “We’re all stressed!”

We couldn’t share the beach, but we can share this cave.

she’s not real. She’s a yoga bot.”

‘No one remembers the wipeouts. Everyone remembers the triumphs.’

“Don’t doubt around all day. Seize the wave.”

Sometimes it’s hard to judge the wave.”

Why are you worrying about the sea? The sea sure as hell isn’t worrying about you.

I want to enjoy life again, I realize. Because life is the ride, and the ride is it. You have to enjoy it.

I’ve stalked him online a bit, because I’m only human.