The last two days sucked. When I vented to my girlfriends, they told me to go out for dinner or hang out. In other words, they said "SIT DOWN AND RELAX." So I lied down. I tried to breathe, which made me want to hurl a bag against my wall. I tried to sleep, which made me want to scream. I tried to rest, but I only wanted to do jumping jacks. What should I do? Work, my brain said. Fucking work, Mitchell! So, in the midst of crisis, I started brainstorming a project due in May. I made a list of ideas and sources. It took me away from everything: the stress, the problem, and any other worries, including deadlines.
My friends, my bosses, and teachers all ask if I am overworked, about to break down because I'm worn out. No, I tell them. I love it. Then they always squint or roll their eyes. Maybe, I operate this way because I watched my mother and father "work" like dogs, picking up dog shit and selling puppies, or perhaps I just like control, the ability to handle a situation, like a project, when everything else gets fucked up.
Either way, I live for writing, reading, and selling things online to support my writing this summer. I refuse to give "work" up.
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