The first thing he does when he gets home from work is flip on the stereo and fall into his chair, relaxing completely before remembering his laptop is in the bedroom. Too late, he thinks, as he wilts into the cushions, the stress of the workday leeching out, leaving the residue of sleepiness. He contemplates picking up the guitar, but knows in his core that’s as probable as actually doing the sketch-a-day challenge he bought a new journal for a month back.
O I AM SLAIN TWAS A FOUL AND LOATHSOME ITALIAN INTRUDER THAT DID SLAY ME THE RAPSCALLION HATH MADE HIS WAY TO TH’INTERIOR OF MINE ACHING BOSOM WOE BETIDE ME FOR I AM NO LONGER FOR THIS WORLD FIE, FOR SHAME, FOR I DID SO LOVINGLY BATHE HIM IN OIL AND BALSAM AND GIVE UNTO HIM MINE OWN GORGONZOLA ALAS, THE TRAITOR HATH TURNED UPON ME AS AN ASP UPON THE BREAST OF THE ‘GYPTIAN WOE
Oscar Wilde said that if you know what you want to be, then you inevitably become it - that is your punishment, but if you never know, then you can be anything. There is a truth to that. We are not nouns, we are verbs. I am not a thing - an actor, a writer - I am a person who does things - I write, I act - and I never know what I am going to do next. I think you can be imprisoned if you think of yourself as a noun.