It all began when my fingernails ran away. It was 11:54 on a Thursday night, and I was buried deep in a work project that was due in just a few hours. I sat at my desk in an old gray t-shirt and checkered pajama bottoms, bathed in the flickering fluorescence of my desktop monitor, hands clacking away on the keyboard. My eyes were glued so tightly to the screen that everything that surrounded it was a mere blur, swimming out of focus in the periphery.
As I was entering the updated figures into column D of the spreadsheet, I felt a subtle, dull prying. I ignored it. I’d been sitting here, working for eight hours already. The aches and pains of the nine-to-five life were one thing, but when you did as much overtime as I did, you had to tune these things out, even when your body was crying ou
