All work, no play... When does it end...

Everyday is beginning to be the same, wake up, start writing, check email, wander around for something to drink, debate about a shower (eventually I give in), back to writing, reading about writing, more writing, revise writing, check email, and hope something different gets thrown into the routine. With the exceptions of briefly interrupted sessions of video games this is my day and it is about twelve hours long.

Produce, production, stress, more production, work, work, work, is all that is happening, but without pay. Only the hope of pay, not even the promise of it. Why I pick such non lucrative ventures is beyond me. I think I love the struggle, or rather am obsessed with it.

After putting art on hold indefinitely I think that the only thing as frustrating and as hard to be successful at could have been writing. Maybe next I will decide to be a stand-up comedian since I am so awful at career choices. It is almost like I am trying to pick the hardest route on the most difficult path.

I would not call my journey the road less traveled, but maybe the road no one should travel. It seems to be chalk full of detours, dead ends, and one way-wrong way alley ways.

Pit stops over. Time for me to get back on the road... I've got places to be... I think.