I’ve worked 21 of the last 24 days. On weekdays I work a nine and a half hour shift, weekends only an hour less. My commute adds an hour and forty minutes of riding to each day. This affords me one hour in the morning and four hours in the evening when I am not asleep or elsewhere employed. Subtracting the time needed to eat, bath, and to ponder racing rats, I am left with less than munificent time for writing, reading, drawing, playing guitar, letters, cutting hair, and playing video games with my brother.
This paid-vacation from my regularly scheduled artistic ventures has left me feeling unproductive, despite the growing sum of money in my savings account. I’m worried there may not be enough time in the day for sleep, work, decompression, and other such endeavors. I’m flying in to the New Jersey on July 10th, and I wish to arrive as an ocean storm breaks land; a maelstrom of creative camaraderie.
I once learned to play a song at the request of my dear friend Abbey; ‘come together’ by The Robot Ate Me.
you should make sure
you don’t die young
you need this time to live