I hate it when I don't have a million things to do. Like right now. I feel restless and bored. I feel like I should be doing something else.
I probably should be doing something else. I have my hands in so many projects. Any of them would be better off for some of my attention.
But, lately I've been trying to limit the amount of work I do in a given day. And, I'm trying to avoid working on weekends. I work about 12-14 hours a day on weekdays. And, before I used to work as much as I could on weekends as well, unless I had some other plans.
But, now I'm trying to reclaim my life. Sure, I want to see all my projects through to their completions. I want to get my book published, buy my first property, release my new record, play more concerts, put on the world premiere of Brainpool's rock opera Junk, learn to speak and read Swedish fluently, and get my Fiat 850 sedan running well enough to drive it to Los Angeles.
There's always plenty of stuff on my plate. That's the way I like it. Or, at least that's what I've been telling myself. But, my therapist and I had a discussion about this last week that gave me new perspective on this issue.
He asked me why I always juggle so many projects. I thought about it for almost a minute before I could calculate a reply. "Well, I don't know that I like it more than any other way of being. It's just that this is what I've done as long as I can remember. I don't know any other way than this."
Funny. I used to think I was like this because I knew this was The Right Way To Be. It was quite enlightening to find out that it's actually more habitual than anything else.
I guess it's a more useful habit than nose-picking. But, the thing is that I do that as well.
Shit. I'm probably fucked.
In other news, this evening I went and bought two smoke alarms for my house.
Of course, I did the same thing I assume most everyone does with these sorts of things. Which is to say I put in the batteries, threw away the instructions, and stuck them somewhere that will probably defeat the purpose of owning them at all.
I did do a quick test on one of them. You don't need to read the instructions to do the test. You only need to press the button marked TEST. Luckily it's the ONLY button, so there's not a lot of room for error. I should not have pressed this button.
As I pressed the button, the little white smoke detector schreeched out a sound that made fire engine sirens seem quiet and soothing. It was like an entire warehouse of javelins raping my ear drums. I guess that means it's working.
I feel safer now. I can enjoy the earth-shatteringly loud violent ear rape of the piercing smoke alarm as I burn into into human carnitas—and beyond. But, at least I'll have peace of mind, knowing that I will definitely suffer hearing loss in the last moments before my toasty immolation!
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