I Am Gonna Make It Through This Year If It Kills Me

My roommate's away for the week, somewhere tropical. He takes trips like this with some regularity.

I feel like I've put my life on indefinite hold for my career. I don't go on trips. I don't remember the last concert I went to. Rarely see theater that doesn't feature a friend. For the past year (and longer), my tropical vacations consist of a few gin and sodas at a bar.

I don't do the regular things that human beings do. Things I used to do. When I was a human being. Because I've invested everything into this idea of a career. Other people associated with my career seem to lead regular lives—executives, producers, managers, agents. But they can afford it. Me, I've been hunched in a foxhole for the past few years.

It's surprisingly easy to forget how regular human beings enjoy life. I've deferred this idea of "living" until some nebulous future date when I can afford to... kick back.

It's April. 2012.