Pathfinder Coaching

Traditional career advice wasn’t built for ADHDers—especially mid-career professionals navigating pivots, identity shifts, and burnout.

They’re handed rigid frameworks.
Told to “network more.”

They’re left overwhelmed by:

— Tabs.
— Dumb to-do lists.
— Advice that never sticks.

I created the Core 4 Framework™, a system designed for clarity, momentum, and sustainable job search success.

Together, we focus on:

• Clarity – Clarifying strengths and direction
• Cohesion – Building a brand that feels authentic
• Connection – Making networking natural, never forced
• Communicate – Creating original content that builds authority

Wins include:

• 100+ ADHDers coached through mid-career pivots
• LinkedIn profiles that draw leads and recruiter outreach
• Clear personal brands that open doors to roles that finally fit

This isn’t about fitting in—it’s about finally aligning with what works.

📅 Book a free chemistry call: www.pathfinder.coach/connect
✉️ david@pathfinder.coach

Career Coach

White Path Search

At White Path Search I leveraged an extensive network of professionals to help talented executive-level support find their way to the right career path. 

Through building deep relationships with my clients, I helped employers find and connect with top executive-level talent. My recruiting approach was relationship-centric, which was essential for building long-term, trusting, and open relationships.

Executive Recruiter

Green Key Resources

I led Green Key Resource's IT Division and, as Director, assisted in defining the firm's broader strategy for continued growth of the team in NYC.

Director

Career Group Inc.

Vice President, Full Time Division

Strategic Moves

Staffing firm specialized in placing telecommunications professionals with manufacturers, re-sellers, ISPs, and the financial services industries.

Recruiter

Royal Air Force (RAF)

Human Resources

ADHD Career Coach | Founder of Momentum — the 8-week coaching program built to get ADHD brains off the overthinking line and into a rhythm of task execution (even on low-energy days)

Starting was always the hardest part. I could see the work in front of me and knew what needed to get done. 

But getting off the line always felt impossible.

The more tasks piled up, the heavier it got.
I’d stall, not because I didn’t care, but because I wasn’t sure I could finish.
That stall cost me a promotion.

They gave it to someone from the outside.
I smiled through it, but inside, I knew I hadn’t done enough.
I didn’t know how to change it.

I spent 20 years in recruiting and HR. Running a full desk. Building teams. Closing searches from kickoff to offer.

Edtech. Martech. Hedge funds, PE, and asset managers who expected results yesterday.

That pace? I could handle it.
Last-minute scrambling was my superpower.

But longer timelines and steady execution?
Total kryptonite.

Then in my 50s, I got diagnosed with ADHD.
And suddenly, everything made sense.

Once I stopped trying to “just focus” and started building around my brain, everything shifted.

✅ Timers
✅ Systems
✅ Boundaries
✅ Automation

Not hacks. Just stuff that works.

Now I coach mid-career professionals with ADHD who are stuck at the starting line.

That’s why I built Persona™ — the world’s first AI job search engine for ADHDers.

It takes 80% of the work off your plate so you can get off the line, into motion, and all the way to completion.

For most of us, the real stall isn’t starting. It’s the dread of not finishing.
That fear is rooted in past failures and impostor syndrome.

Persona changes that. 

It builds in structure and support to see things through.
Small wins stack up, the dopamine hits, and finishing becomes the new normal.

And here’s the part that matters most. Persona is built around your actual speaking voice.
Everything you touch — your resume, LinkedIn profile, comments, content — it all sounds like you.

By the time interviews roll in, they already know what it’s like to talk to you.
You’re not walking in cold.

Through my 8-week Momentum program, I combine Persona with one-on-one coaching to help you get clear, get visible, and off the line — without burning out or pretending to be someone you’re not.

Because ADHD isn’t a flaw.
It’s just a different operating system.
Once you learn how to run it, momentum feels possible.

📩 DM me "Momentum" if you’re ready to stop staring at the starting line and finally move forward.

David Hannan

Just crossed 60,000 followers on LinkedIn.

Want to know what I'm actually proud of?

I didn't buy a single one of them.

No engagement pods. No $200/month growth gurus. No trading reach through 'mutual' comment spam.

And still, every month...

Someone with a big following slides into my DMs with an invitation to some exclusive club to '10x my reach.'

Latest one? 

Claimed they went from 2K to 155K followers in 15 months. Had the balls to call it 'authentic visibility.'

They all lead with follower count like it matters.

It doesn't.

You can't control who follows you. 

But you can control who you connect with. 

You can control the quality of what you create. 

And you can damn sure control where you show up and who you engage with every day.

Took me four years to go from 5,000 to 60,000. 

Four years of being real, showing up, and writing what I actually think instead of what performs.

- No hacks. 
- No shortcuts. 
- And no bullshit.

Just consistent, organic, human content.

If you're building something that matters, you don't need a pod to prop it up. 

You need patience. 
You need clarity. 

And you need to trust that quality compounds faster than tricks ever will.

The followers came because the work was real.

That's the only metric worth celebrating.

P.S. Who's still doing this the real way?

I help senior leadership build clarity, visibility, and authority for their next career move | Founder of Momentum | Ex-recruiter | Girl dad

"I can't say no to people who need me."

That's what he told me during our second call.

Smart guy. Former VP. Built teams. Coached juniors.

Always the guy people called when things got hard.

And now?

Six months into his own job search.

Still hasn't finished his resume.

Here's what was happening:

Every week, someone would reach out.

→ "Can you review my LinkedIn profile?"
→ "Can you hop on a call to discuss my search?"
→ "Can you intro me to someone in your network?"

And every week, he'd say yes.

Because that's what good leaders do, right?

Except now he wasn't leading a team.

He was unemployed.

And his "helpfulness" was costing him momentum.

If you've got ADHD, you know this pattern. 

You feel people's pain like it's your own.

Someone asks for help, and your brain absorbs the urgency. Suddenly their problem is your problem.

So you say yes.
Again. And again.

Until you realize you've been everyone's coach, connector, and therapist…

…but you haven't sent a single application this week.

Here's the lie your brain tells you:
"If I don't help them, I'm selfish."

But here's the truth:
You can't pour from an empty cup.

Every time you put someone else's career first?

You're practicing self-abandonment.

The boundary phrase that changed everything:

"I want to help you, but I need to finish this round of my own search first. Can we reconnect next week?"

That's it.

→ Not "no." 
→ Not "I'm too busy."
→ Just honest resource allocation.

Most people said, "Of course. Good luck."

A few disappeared.

The ones who respected his boundary stuck around.
The ones who didn't were just looking for free labor.

Here's your permission:

→ You're allowed to prioritize yourself.
→ You're allowed to safeguard your energy.
→ You're not selfish for choosing yourself first.

Because the best way to help people long-term?

Get yourself across the finish line first.

Where are you still helping before you heal? 

Drop it in the comments... or just sit with it.

Either way, you already know the answer.

——
♻️ Share if someone in your network needs to hear it.

Follow me, David Hannan, if you're done sacrificing your own career to fix everyone else's.

I got something wrong this past year, and it's been sitting heavy for a while.

A lot of people who need help never reach out.

Not because they don't want support.

Because they don't want to label themselves to get it.

Some are dealing with ADHD, but it's not the same for everyone.

Some aren't.
Some aren't sure.
Some never want to say it out loud.

I've shared a lot about my recent diagnosis, and I'm comfortable talking about it.

But that doesn't mean everyone else is.

That's something I didn't fully appreciate until recently.

I used to think narrowing my focus to ADHD was the inclusive move.

I see now that I was wrong about that.

It ended up having the opposite effect.

And for that, I'm deeply sorry.

Over the last few weeks, I've had long conversations with clients, coaches, and people in the ND space.

Some of those talks were heavy.

They made me realize something I should have understood from the start.

For a lot of people with ADHD, the struggle isn't the brain.

It's the label.
It's the stereotype.
It's the fear of being boxed in.

It's the pressure to explain yourself before you can even ask for help.

The last thing I ever wanted was to add to that.

So I'm widening the front door.

The work isn't changing. 

My clients still get the same structure, support, clarity, and steady path forward.

The shift is simple.

People shouldn't have to decide what to call themselves before they ask for help.

Nobody should feel boxed in by a label just to start a conversation.

That's the part I'm fixing.

This isn't about turning away people who don't have ADHD.

It's about making sure people with ADHD aren't forced into a corner just to get help.

They deal with enough already.

Widening the doors makes the room bigger so people get to ask for help without feeling boxed in.

More people get to feel safe.

That's the goal.

Let me be honest. LinkedIn can mess with your head if you're not careful.

You scroll long enough and it starts to look like:

— Everyone else has their sh*t together
— Their week seemed to make sense
— You're the only one stuck in the drafts

I see this every week with ADHD clients.

They look at somebody's clean, final version and forget there was a messy middle.

Probably the same kind of week you just had.

The real pressure isn't posting, it's:

— Trying to make your week look "cleaner"
— Worrying the finished draft won't "succeed"
— Feeling like you need to polish the whole thing

That's usually the moment everything tightens and you stop sounding like yourself.

Here's what helps when the overthinking kicks in.

One-Line Audit:
"Is this real, and does it help?"

If yes, that's enough.

❌ You don't need shiny.
❌ You don't need clever.
❌ You don't need perfect.

You just need something honest and useful to the next person who thinks the way you do.

Authenticity isn't a brand play. 
It's authority.

People trust what feels lived, not polished.

PS: What kind of post feels most real for you lately?

The one thing that gets my ADHD brain into a dopamine loop isn't what you think.

Some people meditate or journal in the morning.

But I needed something with guaranteed results.

The best way I've found isn't some fancy hack.

It's posting insightful comments on LinkedIn.

— The thing is, good comments get answered.
— Because I'm adding value people can use.
— And that's my built-in feedback loop.

That loop hits every switch in my head.

Connection. Movement. A quick win.

And it's enough to get me going.

— After school drop-off, I'm 20 comments in.
— And by late morning, I'm closer to 100.
— All from my phone, just my thumbs.

People think this is discipline.

It isn't.

— It's me giving my brain something that works.
— Most ADHDers wait for motivation.
— I can't do that.

I built a loop that rewards me before anything slips.

And here's why commenting feels easy for me.

I stick to posts that matter to me.

— Stuff I relate to.
— Stuff I can actually add value to.
— That's when ideas flow, even on low-energy days.

The question that keeps it simple?

"What opinion can I share, and how can I add something useful to the thread?"

That's the whole thing.

— One question.
— One intention.
— Zero pressure.

And that's enough.

— Some mornings I'm sharp.
— Some mornings I'm cooked.
— But that tiny prompt still works.

It warms up the quiet parts of my brain and turns LinkedIn into a place where I show up, not hide.

If you want visibility without the overwhelm.

Don't worry about posting content.

Start by posting comments.

— Make it light.
— Make it daily if you can.
— Let it feel good enough to repeat.

Consistency comes from the reward.

Not the grind.

P.S. What gets you moving?

Tried to take it easy last night in front of the telly.

Ended up sorting my sock drawer instead.

I swear my brain can’t just “rest.”

It needs a mission.
Any mission.
Even a stupid one.

Been binging The Man in the High Castle recently, so I figured I’d put on an episode and switch off for a bit.

Next thing I know, I’m standing over the drawer rearranging every folded sock bundle.

⬅️ ➡️ From left to right.
⬆️ ⬇️ To top to bottom.

Like some deranged Marie Kondo fanboy who can’t follow his own advice.

ADHD rest works like this for me.
I go looking for calm.

My brain finds a tiny project it can finish before it loses interest.

And honestly, I’m learning to roll with it. It’s harmless.

It settles my head in a way “relaxing” never does, and it gives me a quick win without asking for much.

So if tonight’s “rest” turns into rearranging something that didn’t need rearranging, I'm cool with it.

At least it gets me out of my own way.

You got a version of this?

She made more progress on Tuesdays than the rest of her week combined. 

I didn't notice it at first.

But when we charted her week during our weekly Momentum check-in, the pattern was unmistakable.

𝗧𝘂𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗪𝗲𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆? 
☑ Comments left.
☑ Applications sent. 
☑ Conversations started. 

𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆? 
☒ Total collapse.

Here's what struck me:

She wasn't inconsistent.
She was predictably consistent.

Her energy had a rhythm. She just didn't know it yet.

Most people with ADHD think they're chaotic.

They're not.
They're 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘂𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱.

The brain craves certainty. 

When you can't predict your own capacity, you assume you don't have any.

But the second you start tracking momentum instead of tasks, something shifts.

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴:
"𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺?"

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴:
"𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘮 𝘐 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘐 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?"

Here's what we did.

I told her to stop logging what she accomplished.
Instead, log days in motion.

Not hours worked. Not tasks completed.
Just: Did I move forward today? Yes or no.

No judgment. No shame spirals.
Just data.

𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟭: 3 days in motion.
𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟮: 4 days.
𝗪𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝟯: 5 days (one of them was a Friday)

By Week 4, she wasn't asking me for motivation.

𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴:
"𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴? 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?"

That's the shift.

𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺:
"I'm broken and unpredictable."

𝗧𝗼:
"I have patterns I can work with."

Quantifying momentum doesn't just reduce self-doubt.

It replaces guessing with evidence.
And evidence is calm.

Here's my challenge for you.

Stop tracking tasks for one week.

𝗔𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗱𝗮𝘆, 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻:
"𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘐 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺?"

Yes or no. That's it.

By the end of the week, you'll know more about your actual capacity than any to-do list ever told you.

What would you learn if you tracked motion, not minutes, for a week?

Drop a comment. I'm curious.

And if this hit ♻️ repost it.

Someone in your network needs permission to stop lying to themselves about "consistency."

A marketing SVP joined a call with a plan for her next chapter.

I asked her to print it out. Then rip it in half.

She smiled for the first time in weeks.

Like a lot of people I meet, she’d turned “career clarity” into a side project.

Every night:

— Job boards filled with roles she could do.
— Browser full of "maybes" that never felt right.
— Spreadsheets for tracking apps and salary bands.

By Friday, she’d built a case study instead of a plan.

That’s what happens when the smartest people I work with start overthinking their next move.

They research to feel safe.
They gather data to calm the noise.

And it works, until it doesn’t.

Chasing proof while ignoring what was clear all along.

At that point, the work is about doing less.

— So we slowed it down.
— No ten-step plans.
— No frameworks. 

Just a few simple questions:

— What parts of the week still feel solid?
— Where does energy show up without effort?
— What’s been quietly pushing you the whole time?

Twenty minutes in, her tone shifted.

— No more lists.
— No more rehearsed logic.
— Just honest proof of what actually fits.

That was the moment it clicked.

Her voice changed and you could hear the weight come off.

Clarity isn’t about finding something new.

It’s about finally noticing what’s been steady underneath everything else.

PS: Sometimes the next step starts with ripping up the first one.

Many creators won't see me in their comments soon.

I'm seeing a shift I'm not okay with.

I’ve been on this platform a long time.
Long enough to know when something's off.

And the comments lately?
They're turning into a landfill of AI slop.

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗹𝗹.

You know the deal. You leave something real, and the author hits you with an AI echo.

- same tone
- same phrasing you used
- same "thanks for the valuable insight" garbage

It's everywhere. 
And from people I've followed and admired for years.

Here's what it tells me:

- you didn't write it
- you didn't read my comment
- you didn't give a shit enough to be yourself

And look, I get using AI to draft, explore, brainstorm, whatever. I literally build GPTs for a living. 

That's not the issue.

The issue is outsourcing your presence.
The part that's meant to be you.

Because when someone takes the time to comment on your work, that's effort.

That's attention they didn't have to spend on you.

That's a moment of connection you just handed to a VA or to a ChatGPT agent with a copy-paste prompt.

It cheapens the whole thing.

I'm not feeding into it anymore.
And I'm done pretending it's fine.

So here's what I'm doing this month:

- blocking people who "bot" their replies
- stepping out of spaces that don't feel human
- tightening my circle to folks who show up as real

If you’re one of the real ones, you’ll still see me.
If not, don’t take it personally.
You already checked out before I did.

And let's be honest.
A lot of you won't even read this.

You'll have your AI tool skim it for "sentiment" and spit out a nice little reply.

Which is exactly the point.

I still believe in actual people.
That's who I'll be showing up for.

PS: What’s your read on all this?

Three days before Thanksgiving, and I’d make the same list four times.

Couldn’t find any of them.

Monday, I felt ready. Wrote it out.
Tuesday, it disappeared. Started again.
Wednesday, back to ShopRite for the 2nd time.
Thursday morning, arrival texts lighting up my phone.

It came together. Sort of.

The turkey was okay. The sides were fine.
Everyone said it was good.

I nodded along even though the cranberry sauce sat in the fridge until someone asked where it was.

This is the part I didn’t understand for years.

Holiday chaos is grim because the whole week is built for people who plan three steps ahead. 

That setup burns through anyone whose brain runs hot or needs more space to ramp up. 

I’m in that camp. You might be too.

So stop trying to feel ready.
That feeling never shows up.

Prep one dish the night before. One.
Take a break when you need it.

Even if that means hiding in the guest room for ten minutes so your brain can have a bit of a breather.

One thing I’m thankful for this year?

Having it at someone else’s house.

What’s one thing that gets you through holiday prep?

Most weeknights used to follow the same pattern in my house. 

Olivia would walk over with glitter nail polish in her hand and say, “Can you play with me, Daddy?”

And there I’d be, still trying to knock out something work-related I should’ve finished earlier.

— I’d tell myself it’d take a minute.
— Then another minute.
— Then another.

My brain grabbed onto whatever I was working on and refused to let go. 

I was off the clock, but I was still “finishing” things. 

Meanwhile, she’d stand there, glitter ready, already deciding what color she wanted to paint my nails.

(blue, every time)

And after a bit, she’d skulk back to the living room.

By the time I finally closed my laptop, she’d be curled up on the couch, convinced I didn't want to play.

That sat with me longer than anything in my inbox.

After-work hours can get messy with ADHD because your head keeps running long after the day’s over. 

If you stop too fast, you lose your place, and that jump between tasks can be absolutely brutal. 

Which makes it far too easy to stay stuck. 

You think you’re trying to protect tomorrow, but you end up stealing from the moment right in front of you.

I saw that pattern more clearly the more it happened.

The drifting, the coming back, all those moments where my body was in the room but my mind wasn’t.

And I hear this from a lot of other parents with ADHD. 

— You want to be present. 
— You’re trying to be in the moment. 
— But unfinished tasks follow you around the house.

And remote work only amplified this nonsense.

Home ends up being as noisy as your job. You close your laptop, but the work sticks around if you let it.

I don’t live in that pattern anymore. 

Dad time comes first now, and nothing in my inbox wins over glitter nails or Barbie doll pool time.

That shift didn’t happen overnight, but it changed everything about how we spend our weeknights.

Yesterday, I went deeper into why this hits harder for ADHD brains and how easy it is to get pulled away from the moments you care about most.

I also shared the 3 things that help me let go without getting pulled back into the day’s leftover noise.

If you’d like to dig in a bit with me and 5,126 others who read it, I’ll drop the link in the comments.

Success opened more doors than I ever imagined.

That's when things went sideways.

After recruiting, I saw four clear paths ahead of me.

– I could stay in the game with in-house recruiting
– I could go the Learning & Development route
– I could slide into a corporate training role
– I could build a coaching practice

All four looked doable, something I'd be good at.

But that's what made it harder.

It wasn't confusion. 

Just too many options at once.

So I tried to think my way through it.

– Pros and cons
– Writing out two columns
– Even walking around the block with it

None of it moved anything.

What helped was a question I didn't see coming:
"Name the one part of your career you'd miss most."

My answer was immediate:
"Working with job seekers."

It told me more than any spreadsheet ever could.

And it made the path in front of me clearer.

Coaching wasn't some grand idea, but it was the only lane that kept the part I cared about most.

And once I saw that, I could move again.

Nothing dramatic.

Just a quiet sense of "this feels real enough to start."

If you're staring at a few different versions of your next move, shrink the question.

What's the one thing you'd actually miss if you lost it?

Start from that.

PS: What’s the one part you’d miss the most?

Every Friday around 2pm, my brain starts narrating my life like David Attenborough.

"And here we see the coach. Staring at his laptop. Cursor blinking. Zero thoughts happening."

Yep. Friday.

All week I'm fine. 

- Sharp.
- Making sense. 
- Juggling six things at once.

Then Friday rolls around and I'm reading the same email three times like I've never seen words before.

I used to think something was wrong with me.

Nope. Just what happens when your ADHD brain spends five days running on fumes.

Here's the deal.

When you have ADHD and work with people all week, you're not just doing your job.

You're also doing this whole other job in the background:

- Manually staying on topic every 90 seconds
- Not blurting out the weird thing mid-meeting
- Pretending your brain isn't playing the Bluey theme

That takes energy.

So by Friday you're not tired from work. 

You're tired from managing your brain 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 you work.

Eventually you just stop.

I used to fight it. Now I just let it happen.

I do three things:

𝟭. 𝗖𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗸.
Just clear it. Two minutes.

𝟮. 𝗪𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗱. 
That's the win.

𝟯. 𝗟𝗼𝗴 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗜'𝗺 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗱 𝗼𝗳. 
"Didn't bail on anything" counts.

Five minutes total, and it keeps me from spiraling.

The Friday fog isn't you failing, it's your brain going: 
"We worked hard. Can we stop now?"

Yeah. You can stop.

Brain running at 40% and beating yourself up? 

Stop.

People with ADHD burn hot all week just to keep up with a world that wasn't built for us.

By Friday the tank's empty.

Let it be empty.

Mine showed up on schedule today. 

- Cleared my desk. 
- Wrote my sentence. 
- Logged my tiny victory.

Done. 

Not because I finished everything, but because I'm allowed to be done.

So are you.

P.S. How does your brain tell you it's Friday?

taplio