Today’s one of those days I don’t feel like working. I’m just shot. It may have been an email I received this morning that struck a nerve or maybe it’s simply how overly busy, disappointed and stressed I’ve felt this week, but it’s barely past the morning as I write this and I wish I could simply go home and crawl into bed.

Maybe I haven’t had enough caffeine yet. I’ll go grab a cup of coffee after this and see if that helps. I don’t think I have any cash on me so I suppose it’ll have to be the lackluster black liquid they give us in the break rooms. It hits the spot, but reminds me of the coffee my great-grandparents used to drink when I absolutely detested the stuff. It has that strong acidic smell, the one you can’t rid yourself of even with the powered milk scattered across the counter or the synthetic sugar they try to feed you.

What I wanted to write about today was a Hobby Hole entry on the chest of drawers I’m building in my non-working hours. But it’s not as far along as I’d hoped and a dire setback from last night almost served to end the whole process. I may have come up with a viable solution while falling asleep (good ol’ hypnagogia), but I don’t think I’ll have the time to check until tomorrow morning. So I suppose that entry will have to come next week at some point.

What else is there? I’m working on the third book, of course. Not much left there to talk about, really. I’ve got tons of updates regarding The Nobodies I need to get to at some point, but I think they’ll need to wait for later this month.

Not enough time.

I’m at that point in my life where half of the people I know are going on to do great things while the other half is languishing at home thinking fondly of days gone by. I think I’m somewhere in between. I’m trying hard to break through, but it just hasn’t come yet. Unlike those others, I can’t brag about much. I’ve finished a book (two, I suppose), but to most it doesn’t matter because it’s not up on anyone’s shelf. I’ve dedicated myself to updating this week-in and week-out, but it’s certainly not paying the bills and the traffic isn’t enough to make headlines.

My cousin tried to help recently by getting me a chance with a website I know and love. I took it, and did my best, but I’ve got the feeling it wasn’t good enough. We’ll see. I don’t think I’ll hear anything more on that front.

I’m torn. I know what I want to do. What I like to do. Need to do. Write. I have a fine enough job for the moment, but it’s far from my passion. To get where I want, I need to put in more and more effort, put myself out there, take even more risks.

Like I said, not enough time.

Guess I should go get that coffee now. Then I need to edit some things and get back to writing the third book.

Sometimes I wonder about so-called starving artists. The ones who never make it during their lives but are beyond appreciated afterward. I don’t hope to be one of them, but it’s a sad thing, no? They tried so hard to feed their passion, to show the world what was inside their heads, yet no one noticed until it was too late. Until nothing more could come. What was it like for those artists at the end? Did they die in states of dark, deep depression? Or were they simply beyond the point of caring? It would be interesting to have a time machine and find out, go back and talk to them, look for advice.

Here’s the thing with time machines. Though you may travel wherever/whenever, you’re still aging. Your time is still being used. Though the time around you may no longer be a straight line, yours is. You still need to sleep, eat and shit. And though you may see as many things as you can, there still won’t be enough time to see it all. There never is.

How do we find more time?
I took a long break between this paragraph and the last to let the caffeine settle in my veins. Sadly, mostly to no avail. My Best of the Best playlist is helping some and the day’s end is drawing closer with every letter I type. Just like that, the day’s done, and though I worked hard, there’s seemingly little to show for it. I think I’m living in the wrong era.

My wife read an email aloud to me on our way home yesterday that described what it was like growing up last century, from around 1930 to 1970. Though most of it made me thankful for recent innovations that have extended our lifespans, it also made me somewhat sad as I know the perverse use of technology within our society has eroded our closest relationships. I’ve written about this before I think. I don’t want to repeat myself. Maybe it’s just me. I feel a cold distance between me and everyone I know, a vacuum longing to be filled. I think it’s been there most of my life, that distance, and I doubt it’s going anywhere soon, but I wonder what differences there would have been had I developed in an age lacking videogames and text (instant) messaging and the Internet and Microsoft Office and Google (Yahoo!) and digital downloads.

In grammar school, I had a birthday party at my house. Many of my friends were there. I think it was all guys. I think I got some Super Nintendo games to play and enjoy. But we ended up playing a game of tag/hide and seek. It was fun. I hopped a fence and sprained my ankle, though, and the party was done. I remember we dropped my friend Chris off at his house I think was on the lake. We don’t talk anymore. Maybe we’re Facebook friends, but that’s so different.