Another Mini Breakdown

Last night, as I was driving home after my second straight 9.5 hour day, I slammed on my brakes to narrowly avoid running down a beautiful red fox who'd decided to dart in front of my car and I was barely able to hold back the tears. It's not like there's anything horrible happening, and the good news is I did NOT kill a fox last night, but I'm tired and a little overwhelmed. And more than the feelings of exhaustion and stress, what really made feel that panicky flutter in the depths of my chest was this fear: If two long(ish) days of work, an upcoming bar exam, one sick cat, two cats who hate each other, and the prospect of a job interview are enough to make me feel like throwing both cats into a snow bank and crawling under the comforter for a few (many) days, how the HELL am I going to go back to working 50+ hour weeks? Can I really do that and not lose my mind? In stronger moments, I think of course I can. People do it all the time. Most of my friends do it and sure, they complain, but they're still mentally intact. They enjoy their lives if not their jobs. But last night I wasn't so sure I could. Or more accurately, if I can do it without chemical support. Not that there's anything wrong with that of course. It's been so nice to be happy without them, but I'm not clever enough to come up with an alternative that doesn't involve defaulting on my student loans.