Another morning at the office. This new schedule certainly makes the week fly by, but I constantly feel like I need to catch up. With what? Work-work, leisure reading, car issues, this bloody blog. Yet despite this anxiety, last night I restarted Batman: Arkham Asylum instead of tackling my to-do list. I can’t wait for the next game.
The delicious guy over at Quixotica has been blogging with the regularity that I’d intended for my own blog, but eh. I stare at the “New Post” screen without any compulsion to write.
However, since one of Alex’s posts ended with a question, I figured it was compelling enough to respond.
“Do you work to live, live to work or just…live?”
At the moment I’m sitting at my desk in my lovely half cubicle, with colorful little gel owls on the glass panels. The woman I share this space with has it all Feng Shui’d; various plants, stones, images and mirrors litter our communal area.
Obviously, since I’m typing this at my office desk, I’m not exactly “living to work.” While I really enjoy this particular job and share some modicum of my employer’s zeal, it does not define my whole life.
Neither am I biding my time to fund other pursuits or passions.
I just live, I suppose. I make more money now than I ever have before, but it has not changed the quality of my life in any discernable, enriching way. Certainly, rent and school loans are less of a burden and I no longer have to rely on help from my dad, but qualitatively, life is much the same as it’s been for the last few years.
Hey, that means I’m happy and content! And have been, other than those few months when I felt guilty for bugging my dad for help with rent. I don’t have any grandiose ambitions; I simply prefer to augment my life with good literature, occasional travels and fine people. I also enjoy supporting those around me, even people in the Tumblr, Facebook or Twitter communities. (Which reminds me, I actually have a wee story about a girl I met through Tumblr, two years my junior, but I’ll get to that another day, or another hour.)
I wrote recently that I would love to have a large enough income to help my family, and more specifically, my father. I honestly would, but I am fully aware that he is happy with his lot too. I suppose I inherited his levelheaded demeanor.
I don’t really know what I’m trying to express here. I don’t see myself as simply plodding through life. I do what I like. If I accomplish something that others deem fantastic or impressive, so it goes.
I love, I read, I experiment. I experience. That’s enough for me.