There is a specific kind of panic that doesn’t shout. It hums in the background while you lie on your back, staring at the ceiling, already tired past language. Your body is asking to stop. Your bank balance is quietly counting down. You already took the leap. You already committed to your obra. Now the adrenaline is gone, and what’s left is the math.When Time Stops Feeling Like a Canvas and Starts Feeling Like CashIn the beginning, time felt wide. Open. Like something you could shape. Now it...