My Kingdom for a Sensory Deprivation Chamber

Meeting fatigue is real, and by 11:47 AM on a Tuesday, I’ve already lived three lifetimes.

The morning started with a “quick sync” that wasn’t quick. Then a “brief standup” where everyone had an essay prepared. Followed by the dreaded “let’s workshop this” session where seven people talked in circles for forty-five minutes about a decision that should have been an email.

And now I’m sitting here, fluorescent lights humming their electric death song, listening to Janet from Accounting explain her weekend plans while I’m supposed to be focused on Q4 projections, and all I can think is: I would trade my entire 401(k) for fifteen minutes in a sensory deprivation chamber.

The Noise Never Stops

You know what nobody warns you about when you take an office job? It’s not the work that kills you. It’s the being perceived that slowly drains your life force.

Between Slack pings, calendar invites, “got a minute?” desk drop-bys, and the guy in the next cubicle who insists on speakerphone calls, your brain never gets a moment to just… exist. In silence. Processing nothing. Defending nothing. Contributing nothing.

The meeting fatigue compounds because there’s no recovery time. It’s back-to-back calendar Tetris from 9 AM until you escape, and even lunch isn’t safe because that’s when people want to “grab lunch and chat about the project.”

The Float Tank Fantasy

I’ve started having this recurring daydream. I’m in one of those sensory deprivation tanks—you know, the isolation chambers filled with super-salty water where you float in complete darkness and silence. No light. No sound. No Dave from Marketing asking if I “got a chance to look at his deck.”

Just… nothing.

Blissful, beautiful, corporate-hierarchy-free nothing.

No one can @ me. No one can schedule over my lunch. No one can add me to a distribution list for their team-building bowling event. The tank doesn’t have Wi-Fi. The tank doesn’t have a door that coworkers can knock on. The tank is an impenetrable fortress of solitude.

We’re Not Built for This

Here’s the thing about meeting fatigue: our brains weren’t designed to be “on” for eight consecutive hours. We’re not meant to maintain professional enthusiasm from 9 to 5 while simultaneously managing seventeen different communication channels and pretending we care about the new org chart.

Humans need downtime. Not “checking your phone” downtime. Not “scrolling Twitter while half-listening to another meeting” downtime. Actual downtime. The kind where your nervous system can finally unclench and your brain can sort through the chaos without someone asking you to “circle back” on something.

But instead of acknowledging this fundamental human need, corporate culture decided that the real solution to information overload is more meetings. Meeting about the meetings. Meetings about why meetings are inefficient. All-hands meetings to discuss meeting culture.

The irony would be funny if it wasn’t slowly killing me.

The Afternoon Stretch

It’s 2:30 PM now. I have three more hours to go. Two more meetings scheduled. Seventeen unread Slacks. Forty-three emails that came in while I was in meetings about work instead of doing work.

My kingdom for a sensory deprivation chamber.

Or, you know, like… a meeting-free Wednesday. One day a week where everyone collectively agrees to shut up and just work. Where “collaboration” doesn’t mean “interrupt each other constantly.”

That would be nice too.

But until then, I’ll be here, mainlining coffee and mentally calculating how much PTO I have left, wondering if “acute meeting fatigue” counts as a valid sick day reason.

Probably not.