Monday, June 23, 2014

There's Something Else I'd Rather Be Doing

Ever start enjoying something so much that it overtakes your time until you really don't want to be doing anything else? So you don't do anything else. But then someone comes along and says, hey, why don't you do something else? All you ever do lately is this one thing, and I'm sick of looking at you doing it. Can't you try another something? Read a book. Tap dance. Levitate. Anything but that one thing.

So you stop.

And then you're not doing that one thing, but you keep thinking about it anyway because, let's face it, you don't want to be doing all that other stuff you've been forced into doing. Which makes you squirrelly. Or maybe you develop a twitch. This is not healthy, you say to yourself. If I still got to do that other thing, I wouldn't have this embarrassing facial tick, you say to yourself. And what's up with this other person wanting me to levitate instead of doing that thing I was already perfectly happy doing, albeit way too often. It's not like it was drugs or drinking or chewing my nails. I was having fun, being productive, surrounding myself with a hobby sort of thingie. And what's more, when you have a hobby sort of thingie, sometimes you can SELL it and make a PROFIT with it. What's up, other person? I should be doing this hobby in my sleep because eventually I could become RICH and maybe even FAMOUS because isn't that what happens to people who become totally obsessed with something? They monetize it? This is America, for Pete's sake. We monetize the stuff we love to do so that we can keep on doing it, or so that we can become so successful at it that we have to hire other people to do it for us so we can administrate then whine and groan that the only reason we got into the business in the first place was so we could spend all day doing what we love to do but now we never get to do it anymore.

No, this is taking a wrong turn. All I wanted to say is that sometimes it's good to get all wrapped up in something until you don't want to do anything else. Isn't it? Or is this where a therapist steps in, takes my hand, and gently leads me to a couch where I start crying because someone took my blankie when I was two and now I'm trying to replace it with a hobby that no one can throw in the garbage when I'm not looking?

This is too much. I'm going to do that thing.


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