I'm a sportswriter who doesn't just think sports. Here, you'll find my non-sports related thoughts and concerns about this bizarre world that we live in.

Pessimist? Not really.

Frustrated? On occasion.
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The 8-hour work day, and it’s bastard cousin, the 40-hour workweek are antiquated, and malicious constructs.

Plain and simple.

In my current state, I have a “day job” which I must hold down to be able and pursue my passion, and turning that passion into a full-time reality. During the average 8-hour work day at this J.O.B., I do an average of an hour’s worth of work. The remainder of the time I sit there pondering why the hell I’m stuck in the personal hell which I described in one of my earlier posts here.

Even though I try not to. It’s a daily war I wage with my own consciousness.

The conventions of time have changed dramatically since our parents’ generation decided that the most productive modus operandi was to have someone’s butt plastered in an uncomfortable chair with dull florescent lighting pouring over their heads, ruffling papers in an effort to look busy and impress their overbearing bosses for the chance at an incrementally larger piece of the pie.

With the Internet, work that once took 8 hours now takes 1.

Wow, what a concept.

All the while, scores of people around the world spend countless hours wasting away in cubicle farms, when they could be pursuing a passion with all the free time they were allowed to enjoy if the goal of work was to get the work done then move on.

This construct, however, is not profitable, and therefore the 40-hour work week remains.

My advice: spend those 40-hours a week—one way or another—building a passion which can become what you love to do.

Only then can your time truly be your own.

Some of the best people I know are intensely passionate about a project. Whether that be blogging, getting a new business off the ground, or urban gardening, they put their focus on it with dogged determination.

Being passionate about creating your own reality isn’t as simple as it seems, however, and success is never a given.

Those who are willing to work their hardest on the days that they feel like doing it the least are the same who will reap the rewards when the time comes. I don’t necessarily believe in the whole “everything happens for a reason” ethos, but it’s certainly not coincidence when you listen to the little voice in your head and doors start to open.

Success is defined in different ways by different people, but one thing is the same no matter what: it’s elusive.

Making your passion project into a full-time reality is easier said than done.. but boy will it be worth the journey when the destination is reached.

Only this delta bravo festival would put THIS on a marquee. GTHO of ATX, the Ranch. You’re no longer welcome in our fair city. Losers.

This, my friends, is genius.

Listen to Wooderson.

If any of you would like control over my afterlife— in whatever form it takes— here are a few ways you could create a personal hell for me which would ensure everlasting misery:

  1. Surround me with people crunching apples, chomping ice and ruffling biodegradable potato chip bags.
  2. Put a microwave in the room in which people heat up fish, barbeque, and various heavily-odored casseroles / mystery meats.
  3. Have people walk around the room with haste carrying papers with an intense look plastered on their face.
  4. Other folks should talk as loudly as possible about crap which is so important to them but about which I could give a flying rat’s ass.
  5. The light in the room should be dimly florescent to give off an appearance of calm although it really just makes you want to run outside.

Oh, wait, sounds like my cubicle farm.