Why This Matters

2/15/2026, 1:39am

"Honey, you gotta get some sleep," Karla whispers as she walks into my home office. "You can't keep this up much longer."

I'm hunched over my laptop, polishing everything you've read on here, or are about to. I've given up any attempt at good posture, and the knots in my shoulders and back are reminding me how stupid it is for a middle-aged man to pull all-nighters for weeks while slouched in a chair like Gollum.

I save the final batch of content with a tap of the Return key.

"Done," I say, pulling off my reading glasses and rubbing my temples to stave off a headache.

"You said that last night," she reminds me under the arch of a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really mean it this time," I croak, leaning back in my chair for the first time in hours.

Karla stares at the screen for a few seconds, then starts scrolling through the site, lingering here and there before continuing her descent.

"I know…typos. I'll fix 'em tomorrow," I mutter, barely awake now. So tired.

Her squint matches mine, but hers isn't from fatigue. She's not proofreading. She's looking for something.

"Where's the 'About' page?" she asks.

"Don't need it. All that stuff's on the homepage."

She folds her arms and huffs quietly in frustration. "Yeah, a few sentences in little rectangles about your resume," she says, "but nothing about why all this —" she nods toward the screen, "is so important to you."

"Well, it's because credit union membership growth is at its lowest point since —"

She gags dramatically, flourishes it with an Oscar-worthy eye roll.

"That's a bunch of," she scrolls back up the page and highlights two particular words, "what did you call it, exactly?"

I look up. She's called out operational reporting. And me.

I lean forward, rest my elbows on my knees, rub my temples again. The headache is getting worse.

"You're right," I mumble, "but I'm on fumes."

"Good. That means your guard's down. Easier to speak from the heart," she says. "You want everyone else's stories to be real? Better take your own advice."

She pauses long enough for me to look up at her.

"Why is this so important to you?" she asks.

"There it is," my best friend says with a grin that still makes my heart jump after all these years.

That's all the encouragement I ever need.

I turn back to the keyboard, hands racing to capture what she just set free. And my headache is gone.

I hear her start to walk out of my office. "I'll be up soon," I say without looking away.

"No, you won't."

That spins me around.

Her wry smile proves she's not upset at the all-nighter I'm about to pull, the one she knew was necessary before I did. She blows me a kiss.

"Make it count," she says.

"I will," I reply.

I hope you agree.