And I worry I'll end up just like him...

This afternoon, I saw one of my old bosses from my internship days. He looked haggared and tired, like a ghost of the guy I used to know. It was eerie, as if during some point in the last five years, something had sucked the life out of him, leaving him pale and gaunt and worn down.

And, you know, it worries me a bit. When I mentioned how work was kicking my butt, I meant it in a mental, emotional sense. But now I'm afraid that I'm going to end up like him (like most of them): lonely and frustrated, living for my work ... and not realizing I'm becoming tired and old before my time.

Many of those editors were wonderful to me; they built me up and helped me hone my abilities. But their myriad eccentricities have turned them into caricatures in my mind, the epitome of what I don't want to become. Am I destined to end up like that?