Too Busy to Live

So the idea of getting a job is that you have a 9-to-5 existence and you come home at night not worried where the next dollar is coming from. You do your job during the day. You write at night.

Not so, my friends. At least, not yet.

I am enjoying working for the firm. The people are good, solid folks who don’t hate me. The work is worthwhile, as I deal each day with real people who have real problems, not corporations out to gouge another dollar from the zeitgeist.

The problem is the commute.

In the morning I get out the door before 7 to get to the office in time. Usually, I get there a bit early so I can go next door to Lucky’s Coffee and get a morning bun and a cup of coffee. That’s where I write my daily journal, which I’ve been able to keep up. Sort of.

In the evening I get back on the 10 to the 15 and the little get together of about six million cars somehow heading back to the High Desert.

Who knew so many people lived here?

I get home anywhere between 7 and 9:30. It doesn’t matter. I barely have time to take a 20 minute walk (very necessary after being couped up in the car all that time) and then do a few minutes of reading. Right now I’m almost finished with “How The Scots Invented The Modern World,” a fascinating tome about how 17th and 18th Century Scots completely transformed our world.

But you can guess that after spending time with all those accomplished Scotsmen, my brain is ready to sleep.

To cite Jackson Browne, when the morning rolls round again, I get up and do it again. Amen.

Yes, Lord, Amen.

But at least I am still alive, even though I’m too busy to live. I draw breath and do some good during the day.

Writing? Are you high? Who has time to write?

Sigh.