Tomorrow is day 37.

I know I am fatigued and over extended. Like an open wound that only expresses pain, I usually work my streak into any given conversation in the first few minutes. It's true, there is pride related to my workathon. But the main reason I talk about it is that I don't really do much else to speak about. If I had a day off at this point, I'd probably just sleep. So hungry you can't eat.