There is something very satisfying about being productive.
But I must add, it makes for very simple thinking.
“Did I finish that thing on my list? Oh good. That’s good. That’s done. That’s good.”
And the inner emotional life is something like this:
“I’m so tired. I could really use a nap. I better not sleep now, though, because I want to get to bed early tonight because I have to get up for that lunch tomorrow, so I better just power through it. What’s on the list here? Okay, I better get to it. I have to. Um. I deserve a treat. A few cashews. I guess I can eat a little.”
And the occasional moments when you feel like you have inspiration and you want to work on some writing, you just think:
“I’ll do that later. I have to send out the email to S.C.. And I have to call John. And there are people coming over at seven or are they coming at six-thirty? I’m always so bad with time. I don’t mind days, but I hate hours.”
This dizzying speed. This requirement to get things done, “If I send out this funny email to Joe, he’ll think I’m cool and maybe read my other stuff,” and this push. This push.
It’s a bit much.
I’m not alone.
---Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, is in an end game of getting a job on a hit sitcom. If he gets it, there will be rich, fat days. If he doesn’t, there will be nothing.
We move fast. We win, we lose.