How to Work Yourself to Death for Freedom

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She said she heard about two people, locally, who just dropped dead at their desks.

In New Jersey! she screamed. This happened in New Jersey!

She stood before me, exasperated, exhausted. She’s been pushed to the brink, her eyes are always swollen. Her once perfect posture, destroyed. But she’s still gorgeous. She still makes me smile. I still love her more than poetry.

They said the one guy had a massive heart attack, she continued, sitting back on the bed, and the other guy just had a stroke and dropped.

Bullshit, I said. They worked themselves to death, they never stopped and their bodies finally gave out. And if you kill yourself over a fucking job, I added, I will never forgive you. I’ll fucking haunt you from life. She started crying. I gave her a sedative, and put her to bed. Rest. You have to rest, please, I said. Now I was crying.

 Stop trying to kill the woman I love, America. What the fuck?

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