Well, I survived my first day at RackShack. It could've been much worse, but of course it could've been better. Coming home, lighting a cigarette, and opening a beer made me think, though: how likely is it that I would enjoy the life of idleness I always promote? Do I need to work, at least occasionally, in order to create enough background conflict to make my life interesting? I find these thoughts repulsive, though I honestly don't know if I'm repulsed that I'm thinking about work or that I may have to acknowledge the value of having a shit job that makes me appreciate my time off. I hope it's the former and not the latter, but if it is the latter, so be it. I don't want to delude myself for the sake of an ideal, unless the ideal in question is delusion.

I do know for a fact that I don't like working. Having spent the last month and a half gloriously idling, I've found that being able to do what I want, when I want, without being on a set schedule is the way to go. I'm pretty sure I'll never get over my allergy to work, especially as I grow old and, hopefully, become a better writer that's more dedicated to his art than he currently is. Maybe recognizing a day job's potential to offset pure relaxation is a step to more fully savoring the true virtues of not having to work at all. Maybe I'm just talking out my ass.

Yeah, I'm definitely talking out my ass. I will go out with this, however: I'll take a beer, a bowl, a book, a record, and a work in progress over a day job any day. You can put that on my headstone.