Writing at work, much like reading at work, seems to be a futile endeavor. Mainly because I work fourteen hour days and live at the site where I work and on the weekends I tend to want to socialize with my coworkers/friends. But I seriously want to read and write as well as hang out and do my job and party and engage in shenanigans. I want to do both.
That Tall Moustachioed Man I like so much worked with us this past week and he brought his guitar and his songs and played his new songs for me and is playing some of his songs as I type this and his mere presence here is making me realize how much I want to devote more time to my artistic endeavors. I want to do the art projects I signed up for and didn’t complete or even start in certain cases. I want to write the stories I have bouncing around in my head. I want to finish the ones I started in the Fall and worked on sporadically over the Winter.
I love my job. But sometimes I hate just how time consuming it can be.