"If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills...maybe the landslide will bring it down."

When did it happen?

When did life become less about you and more about your responsibility to others? When did you decide that standing in a field with your face up and arms outstretched as rain fell on you took a back seat to making sure that you were dressed and out the door by 7:30? When did you stop thinking "I've got a story to tell," and start telling yourself "I have to finish this?"

Why do you have to check your email because you've been offline all day?

It's not an original train of thought, but it's been mine all weekend. In a year where I've probably been my most creative ever - I still feel every ounce of that creativity being stolen from me the crushing mundaneness of daily living. I don't want this any more. I don't want this nine to five, ten cups of coffee just to make it to the end of the fucking day existence anymore.

We work. We come home. We sleep. We go back to work. We get 104 days a year to ourselves. Any thing else, we have to ask for. Les than a third of our time belongs to us. Even my friends who work for themselves don't seem to have what they want. They're always moving towards the next thing. Trying to get to the point where they can stop and take a breath. Sure, they have more time for themselves than the rest of us, but when they go back on the clock they're working twice as hard and for all the marbles.

I want those nights where it didn't seem like a waste to sit in the backyard drinking the stolen six pack of Busch, and pretend that you're qualified enough to have opinions on everything from the meaning of life, to foreign policy, or to the best sexual positions.

I want to slow down the train.


I don't have a point. I'm whining.

I'm ranting so I don't sit down and write bad poetry for an hour.

Why am I rereading Fight Club on a Sunday night? It always makes me a weepy bastard.