I was recently invited to fly out with a friend to New Orleans. It was very last minute and though free, would've still cost me some hours at work. I was upset that I could not go, more upset that it was due to my job. I consider myself responsible and try to maintain myself as a reliable stronghold of dependability but I often contradict this by following impulses; and letting my passion race forward in blind, frantic stubbornness. I will not be flying out to New Orleans for 3 days but I will be waking early for the rest of the year, dragging my face into a variation of a shirt and coat daily, to push myself out the door and into a city for a job that does nothing but kill the last of my yearly diminishing vitality.
To be fair, my job is very light on stress with many perks and pleasant, if not entertaining enough co-workers who help one to pass the time--but in general its just time I'd rather have to myself, I can't deny the futility in what I do. I can't help but see that it doesn't really matter to me and moreover, I feel its ridiculous that it should matter to anyone.
I tell myself I should stalk craigslist and look for an open window, a fresh start in a new job--brush out my resume and look for something better (whatever "better" means). The thing is, I don't want to work! My job is so chill and I still hate it! Hate the hours the most, its all a matter of time; Time is what I'm not willing to share. On the weekends I hide from the world, I stay in my cold room and make music that I also hide from the world--I want exclusivity, I want to grab all I can of what I call my life and draw a line, exclaim, "this part is only mine!"