Thanks for seein' about a girl, friend. here's where I'm writing my own history—for you, for me and anyone else who needs to laugh to keep from cryin' every once in awhile.

Conundrums

Disclaimer: Here comes a quote. "The worker must work for the glory of his handiwork, not simply for pay; the thinker must think for truth, not for fame."

- W.E.B. DuBois

Well my, my, effin' my ... aren't my priorities in the wrong cotton-pickin' place?

I confess that I am a workaholic, and as I guess is the case with many similar souls, I'm not exactly proud of it. I mean, who has time for pride when one is too busy worrying about what must still be done, what one did not do before pushing one's chair under as one ambled out the door while it was still ... dark?

I go to sleep knowing that all may not have been done and part of me - the part that rolls over and says "Kcuf it, I'm going to sleep" - knows that I simply don't get paid ... well. At all. The other part of me - most likely the throbbing knots in my shoulders - say each night, "You know, you really could've done more. You were there all day, it's work, it's what you do ..."

Where is that over-achiever I used to know so well?

She's broke I suspect. Broke down and tired after not really seeing any fruits of all that labor. There are other factors that undoubtedly contribute to the malaise that now shrouds my work ethic, but at the core, it all comes back to oneself.

How can one manage, "To thine own self be true" when so much time is spent covering thine own ass?

The problem there lies with who is this self? I'm not even a year into what is supposed to be my grown-up work and already I'm struggling with balancing work and life. I am pissed at myself that work consumes far more of me than it should, and I struggle to find that so-called balance even though I think the scales have been pre-weighed against me. In spite of me.

I will work my fingers to the bone because I don't mind work itself. Inherently, I believe Mr. DuBois, as there is little else finer than seeing one's own handiwork I think. I like getting into the details, even losing myself in them ... those details -- giving people what they want how they prefer it even when it takes a tad bit longer, spelling names correctly, saying "Hello how are you" and waiting for the response, these things matter and I don't mind them.

I love it when a plan comes together, when I cross something off a to-do list, when the e-mail goes out and a "Thank you" comes back. It feels like progress, and there's nothing better than being on a road trip and realizing ever so often that maybe you are getting somewhere.

Yet I can't say tonight that I have a response or anything worthwhile to say about the second part of that quote. It's not even that I set out to respond to the quote or use it as a device to draft this post. Really, I was sitting here thinking about how sad I am to come home at 9 p.m., when at 9 a.m. I was really looking forward to getting my drink on. As it was, I had two drinks and that was it. I'm almost ashamed of myself -- and I know what you're thinking and you just feel most free to add another -aholic to the mix ... I told you I was an overachiever.

I'm tempted to swat at the second part of that quote altogether. Who thinks to become famous? (You know what I mean. I know people think they can become famous, but who sets out actually thinking, thinking that their mere thoughts will garner fame?) How does that work? Obviously I've not figured it out yet, and I'm not the sort who would set that as a goal because I'm too cautious to ever try and make that so and I'm too damn practical to think that wasn't completely stupid.

But oh the quest for truth ... daunting and slippery sometimes, and certainly hard to achieve when one feels unbalanced as I do. You see the truth is that in my heart I believe you do what makes you happy, and as simplistic as it sounds, you abandon that which does not bring you joy. Yet work, well, I've known joy and this is not it.

People keep telling me that the trick is to do what you love. Do I look like a bloody magician to you?!

Am I a jester? Probably. At least, I have my moments, but tricks? I don't know tricks, don't turn 'em, don't eat 'em, don't do 'em. Tricks are for kids, and sadly, the world requires me to be a grown up, as if that ain't a mess of something in itself.

This gives me a headache.

I put this doing what you love and lovin' what you do right up there in the annoyance annals with those same shiesters who say dating is a numbers game - you just gotta get out there. Same cotton-pickin' reaction from me on both topics ...

I want to break my foot off up in their behinds, and I'd do it, too, but it'd probably require me to lose my damn balance altogether.

I, too, have a dream.

Soul singer.