I’ve noticed a trend since becoming An Adult. Most of my contemporaries and colleagues have succumbed to an unusual disease: an inability to feed themselves, glance away from their computer monitors every hour or so, and get a good night’s sleep.

Maybe it’s just the PR industry, but I hear the same story from my friends in other sectors: “I just don’t have enough time to grab lunch/stretch my aching muscles/sleep for more than 20 minutes a night. I’m An Adult. I’m very busy!”

Yes, we’re all busy. The recession has meant, frankly, that we have fewer people doing twice the amount of work in most offices. We’re all swamped. But eating and sleeping are two of the most basic life functions. Do you seriously want your flack to be working on an empty stomach and no rest?

Think of it this way: not only will the work of the starving and sleep deprived suffer from these physical ailments, but it demonstrates a real lack of–how to put it?–long term planning. If I were in charge of a large staff of employees, I would want them to have the mental agility to fit the most important necessities of life into their day. Otherwise, they must not be very good at prioritizing, right?

It’s been touted as a very American attitude, this “I’m such a hard worker that I will risk running my body and my mind into the ground to complete my tasks” game plan. Those of you who read Orwell’s Animal Farm in middle school might recall the immortal words of Boxer the horse (”I will work harder!”), who was worked to death and then callously made into glue.

I’m not saying hardworking PR pros are going to be made into glue by their unfeeling corporate masters. (As a race, flacks make very poor binding materials. Our bones are just too fragile, I think.) And I’m not saying that the ethics of hard work and determination should be cast aside; I come from a long line of people who worked themselves to death. I love a bit of elbow grease and obsession, but there should be a limit.

Eat a sandwich when you’re hungry. Go to bed when you’re tired. Our jobs are stressful enough, and it doesn’t help matters to pretend we’re working in a nuclear power plant or an open heart surgery theater.

Photo CC HBart on Flickr.