Days on top of days
I’m no stranger to the 60+ hour work week. The days, when finally done, you swear lasted around 36 hours. Workdays start to melt together, the wallet fills with money, and the fatigue grows along with accomplishment.
The weekend is you savior, and Monday is your satan. Most Mondays you arrive more tired than when you left on Friday because there is no chance of avoiding the fruits of you labor over the weekend. The cycle continues as your wardrobe turns more worn, more tired, dirtier. The smell of a long day starts to linger on you. Oh, that sweet smell of a hard day’s work.
If follows you to the bar after work, it follows you to your solo dinner right before resting for the next day. You stop noticing it; it becomes part of you. It’s the badge of honor from the barn to the grain elevators. It’s the smell that separates you from the people not worth a damn.
Never underestimate a little sweat.