What the fuck are we doing when we work hard so we'll have time to enjoy our free time...
...except the free time isn't there.
And life goes on... and we keep working hard, and life is a mixture of work, running, and sleep... with the moments of transition, little moments of life, spent dreaming about what life should be, of powder and sun and wind.
Living life from one weekend to the next, in a coma of half-drooped eyelids and crappy work and short conversations on the way to more work and slowly disappearing friendships because there isn't enough fucking time left anymore to running from one thing to the next even though you've set aside time to run.
Where do we go from here? Do we keep working hard, and squeezing our lives into those ever-shortening, ever maddening moments of transition in which we're experiencing what life really is except there isn't enough time to experience it? Life is not something that passes at a desk, or in a classroom, or at a meeting. Life happens outside, life is finding yourself with others in a wide blue sky scuffed with clouds and bright with happiness. Life is enjoying the lap of water against the beach on a cold, foggy day and walking ankle deep with rolled up jeans and cold, numb feet. Life isn't numbers 23, 27, 29, and 43a in Physics Volume 1 and a short reflection on "your reaction" to Hamilton's economic plans and problems 39, 41, 43, 45, and 47b without a calculator in a math book and the Duchess of Malfi comprehension questions. When will we realize that what we pass off as our lives is what we "should be doing" and what looks good on paper when our actual lives occurred in those fleeting, running moments between our "experiences" and "adventures".
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