I didn't stay in bed all day like I planned. I got up, took a shower, brushed my teeth...well, you get the picture. Now I'm sitting here writing. I'm supposed to be writing book stuff, but instead I am writing this blog while I listen to Billy Bragg and Wilco doing 'California Stars'.



Being creative for a living is a blessing, but sometimes - like today - I look at the guy sitting next to me and wish I was the one holding a little box of tools, that I went from job to job, fixing things, having a finite time to my work, so that when I was done for the day, I was done.



I am never done. I am always at work.



I used to feel terribly guilty whenever I goofed off - I SHOULD BE WORKING! - but this has subsided some as I've gotten older and realized that work is not everything. Work does not define me (yes, it does) and it's okay to have a life (no, it's not).



You can't write things, act things, make things...if all you do is work. You have to experience life. You have to laugh like an idiot, you have to sob like your soul is pouring out your eyes, you have to listen to the silence and revel in the noise...all of this is integral to creating.



I forget this sometimes. I get caught up in the work.



Alcohol (in moderation), good friends, food, music, movies, books...these are the things that remind me work is not everything. Life is fleeting. It is here and then gone so quickly we are idiots if we don't enjoy at least a little bit of it.



Tomorrow I will think about staying in bed all day. I will maybe luxuriate in being under my brown comforter that leaks feathers. I will maybe stay in my PJ's until it gets dark outside.



Today I am working. I swear it.



I am working.