Someone said “life is a constant bundle of fun” and I agreed. They seem to have acted, however, like they meant it was my life that was the bundle of fun.

That isn’t what I meant at all.

Now, look, nothing I say next is meant to be taken as complaining, whining or otherwise feeling bad for myself or anyone else. That would be missing the point. No, this is all just the truth.

Life is a bundle of joy. Life also sucks major ass.

Is my life fantabulous? Fucking hell. I get up early, go to work, work all day and then I come home. At home I sit down and write and spend most of my nights that way.

I know that I have to work hard at my job, because the better I am at my job the easier it can be to deal with. That’s just the way it is. But in order to do that I have to do my job, study other stuff, keep on top of changes to the field, and so on. Is it the scariest biggest thing ever? No, but it’s work.

I also know that when I get home I have to write everything I write like it is the most precious thing I have ever written. Every piece has to work. I have to work harder for the next piece than the one I did before. Because if I don’t, someone else will. And that will show. And then the people who hire me for things will find other people.

So I work harder and harder. And every year I get busier and work more. I read as much as possible, I watch movies, I listen to stories, I keep up with things and put more and more of myself out there every year. That won’t change any time soon, either. It isn’t like I’ll wake up and next year I can relax. Nope, I’ve just gotta push harder and harder and harder and improve at all costs.

And I have to try and make it look easy. All part of the service.

And I post here. I keep it light, and hopefully funny and yeah it’s fun for me too, but it is also more creativity, more work to keep up with and that’s fine! No one is making me do it, I do it all by choice.

But it is constant work. More every year.

And then when I am so stressed that my neck and shoulders ache and I don’t know what to do - I do some more anyway. Just like everyone else trying to get along in this fucking world.

But here’s the secret:

When I hit that point, and I’ve done everything, I will still try and make time to hang out with friends, to go grab a beer and relax. I know I’ll have to work a little harder later, but I also know it’ll be easier to work that extra bit if I do relax some along the way.

So I go out and I have fun. Damn right!

And then I come home and I want to sleep so bad I can fucking taste it. And I lay down, and I curl up, and I remember that I haven’t slept well since I was like 14 or so, and that I wake up every hour or so, every night. And I sigh, because I just want a long restful uninterrupted sleep.

But then I remember that when I do wake up in the middle of the night my cat tends to notice it and comes up and demands attention, so at least I can do that too. And it’s nice and fun and relaxing in its own way.

Life is a constant bundle of fun. Because I work my ass off so that it is. We all do. Or at least we all should, probably. Because what else is the point? I can sit and dwell on how hard I have it, how hard I make life for myself, or I can shut it - cowboy up - and have a good time.

Which isn’t to say I don’t whine and bitch and moan. Lord yes I do. I just make sure to overshadow it with the fun.

Ever write an entire post and realize that simply posting the lyrics to Safety Dance would have served the same purpose? Yeah.