Daily Failures

I've always dreamed of waking up every morning and spending the first hour in bed drinking tea (or coffee if I fall of the wagon) plotting what to do with my next 15 hours. Living the day like an improvisation, doing whatever I felt like, giving myself an hour to caffeinate and decide how much time to dedicate to writing and how much needs to be dedicated to general maintenance and using the overflow (most usually 14 1/2 hours), to do whatever I feel like.  

I think that's why I love traveling so much. Other than on the days where you catch a train or plane onto the next adventure, you are free to do whatever you want in a strange land. However, I do think I could have just as much fun wherever I live if I had so much free-time and I wouldn't have to occupy myself with finding the next nights accommodation.

I steadfastly resist all activities that require regular meetings, as they would get in the way of my dream. I eschew classes, groups and Sunday brunch dates, all in hopes of realizing my dream. There is only one unshakable obligation that stands as a roadblock after spending my post-collegiate years whittling down all my unessential tasks. That one nagging demand is, of course work. 

My job is pretty good, I make decent money, like my co-workers and get to drink as much beer as I can handle, but it's still a job. Showing up anywhere regularly is prison as far as I'm concerned. Worse yet, my job is in the "service industry," which means I have to actually work for a living, instead of shit around on the internet like office geeks. Worse yet, I have to help people figure out how to order off of a menu. I know it sounds easy, but most of the time it's like trying to explain sex to a six-year-old. 

I have accepted the fact that I will, likely have to work for much of the rest of my life, so I have given up on my dream for now. I also concede that when left to my own devices, my days are usually failures. I usually end up listening to the same music, and eating at neighborhood joints when I'm not pushed off into exotic streets by daily chores. I usually don't do much that can be considered good for myself either. I imagine if I did realize my dream and could spend every day however I liked, I would probably, put off my writing projects far too long, grow to weigh over 300 lbs, burst a blood vessel in my dick from too much masturbation, and eventually, yes, my liver would fail. 

Accepting that my dream is impossible and probably would lead to self-destruction if realized, I have decided for the first time in many years to resolve to daily rituals. I still might let myself slide on showering or teeth brushing on a few days, but damnit I'm going to post on this blog everyday until I think of a better idea for a daily writing project. 

Also, I have started doing daily exercises for  the first time since I played high school sports, because I'm getting fucking fat.  I suspect that maintaing that daily obligation will prove to be a lot more difficult than writing everyday. That is probably because I can drink, listen to music and lounge (my three favorites) while writing this blog, whereas my exercises require me to get on my filthy carpet, groan in  pain and reflect on the private embarrassment of ten years of sloth. 

I feel like these small daily chores were well chosen because they don't really impede much on my 15 hours. They take about 10-20 minutes, they can be done almost anywhere, and at any time of day and best of all, I can always do a really shitty job and won't have anyone to answer to. All daily tasks should fit these criteria.