I’m so depressed that I have to work tomorrow. I’ve had a week off, and for once was not travelling. How relaxing. It felt like I was living my real life 24/7. Mind you, I don’t have a career or a calling; I have a job. I sell 40+ hours of my time each week so I can “eat and sleep indoors,” as my mother says. Having a job is exhausting. It’s work. I’m definitely not living by the “Find something that you love to do and never work a day in your life” motto. Why is this? I’ve wondered that since I joined the workforce. This is supposed to be my main responsibility in life. Gotta work. Gotta pay bills. Why does it seem like such a huge waste of time, then? I can only assume it’s because it’s not my calling. Entertainment in some form is clearly my calling. I love movies. I love books. I love books that get made into movies. I’ve even loved some movies that got made into books. So my week off taught me that I really need to get writing, you know, so that I can live in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed. But for now I must go to bed. Work in the morning. Heavy sigh.

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