I’ll Beat on My Drum ’til I’m Dead

At some point the other shoe will drop. You’ll be staring at a blank page with nothing to write and the most substance you can get out of paper is your credit card bill, which amounts to something-thousand-something I cannot afford (at the moment). And then you have to stay at work to wait for that next thousand or so to roll over into the next bill. “At least” [you hope] “you spent it wisely on ephemeral sources of joy.”

What I love about concerts is that either I’m there at that moment or I wasn’t there at all. And that matters to me. But that’s something I can say about everything else that matters in my life.

I am so tired of people saying “If you want to write, then write” or “If you want to draw, then draw” or “If you want to…” nevermind. I’m sure it’s pretty clear by now. There’s no shortage of wanting, but it’s when that counts. It’s not even how or why not, it’s really _when_. You spend half of all your days getting to and [being] at your job, that thing that pays the bills, and at some point it drains you of ways to express exactly what it is you love and what it is you really live for.

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