This weekend I made by far the worst decision in my life. What did I do? I got a job. What has it done? Ruined my perfect, carefree and almost impossibly irresponsible life. I'm going to be honest, I did my best to avoid this. It's not so much that I hate working, although that's what I repeat loudly and often, it's that I prefer to always be available for whatever good time might be had. Now, you might be asking, "what does that even mean?" Well, I'm not entirely sure. I make a lot of wild claims, I have a lot of half-baked theories on life and how to live--this is one of them. The idea is basically that I like to have all sorts of free time in the summer to play games and hang out with my friends. It's what I'm best at. And I play to my strengths.
So now, instead of having endless hours to fill with fabulous adventures of all kinds, I have to wash dishes and wipe up spills like it's my pleasure to do it. I already missed my cousin pitching in a championship game to clean up after a family that ate like a pack of wild, scavenging hyenas. Not kidding, there was broken glass EVERYWHERE. We're talking workman's comp like you wouldn't believe. What's next? I'll probably miss the first time Garrett says something intelligent and Sam's next leading role in a play. In the words of philosopher and poet Jon Bon Jovi, "It's tough. So tough."