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Think, dream, and be 0

Dear Bradshaw,

Today’s been a bit of a down day. In addition to the dreary weather, lately I’ve been busy writing three week’s worth of blogs for my school (while also translating 30 different documents for a client) and then, checking my emails an hour ago, I received a message from my boss telling me to hold off on the blogs for a bit because they’re planning to revamp the website. Ho hum.

Meanwhile, I’ve been working like a lunatic. Marathon hours, six days a week. I’m telling you, Shaw, I’m physically exhausted from running all over Rome, and mentally exhausted from teaching eight to nine hours of English per day. Of course, I could cut down on my private students. I’d survive. But the more I work the more I make, and for as long as I’ve got to cover the costs of Octopus Ink Press I need as much money as I can make. I know, money is one letter less than ‘monkey’, and that’s what I’ve become, a monkey swinging on a vine out the door of our apartment at 8am and knuckling my way home after 8pm. At times, my routine can be brain-squashing, soul-wringing work.

Is this the meaning of life? Is this why I’m here? If so, why do I bother to breathe? Work, work, work, work, work… I can think of better things to live for, and yet, I have to think about work because without money my name is mud. Sure, I’m willing to work, and hard too, but I’d like a little more time each day to relax, you know, to sit and stare at the sky, feel the breeze, smell the smells, and listen to the sounds of life, because that’s all there is as far as I’m concerned.

I constantly remind myself that one day… poof! So in order to appreciate being alive and (for now anyway) healthy, I try to laugh as much as possible, drink the best wine I can afford, read the classics, listen to Bach and Beethoven, write every day, play the harmonica, think, dream, and be. But such a lifestyle is not always easy because I work so much.

Am I happy? Am I enjoying life? Yes. But the more days that pass, the more fixated I am on the meaning of it all. Why am I here? What am I doing? Work, work, work, work…?

Sorry if I sound sad, Shaw. I’ve been reading a mediocre book that’s been sticking me in the ribs for the past couple days and so, you know what, I’ve decided to do what you’d have done after the first five pages. I’ve set it aside. The first book in 15 years I refuse to finish.

Anyway, time for bed now. Maybe a few winks will set everything aright. Let’s hope so.

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