Freedom Of Choice

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

I haven't had free time in quite some time. Now, faced with a four-day weekend that includes only two nights of performances, I hardly know what to do with myself.

Donna asked, "So what are your plans tonight?"

"You know... I. Just. Don't. Know."

There's a plenty-long list of things I could do. Even some obligations and chores I've not been able to get to during my recent busy streak. The oil in my car needs changing. There's the hole in the drywall above my mother's shower from a completed plumbing repair that needs patching. I could even keep plugging away at the work that's kept me so busy lately. Four days of progress with nary a client to pester me could make a serious dent in my workload.

Instead, I've even had to motivate myself to write this brief entry in what was supposed to be a daily online diary. Listening to David Sedaris in the car the past few days has made it hard to think I could ever be as witty or clever as him. Like so many teenage girls driven to anorexia by magazine models thinner than the paper they are printed on, I am overcome with a strange and comfortable sense that I should simply give up even trying to be clever.

I'll never be asked to read my writing on Letterman. I'll never have more than a thousand comments in two days to one of my posts. My ads will never even pay for the coffee it takes to write these meager posts. And though Google Analytics tells me that two-thousand-one-hundred-fifty-four of you have visited my site in the last thirty days, I can't help but think that more than a few of those visits must have been accidental... or at least, highly disappointing.

So what will I do once I'm done writing this post? Good question. The upside is, I've got four days to figure it out. In the meantime, I've got some sitting around on my ass I've been meaning to get to for a while.

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