Rant: The need for a 26/28 hour day

I wish I had more time…

It occurred to me the other day, I am really busy. Not just “I have a lot on my plate” busy. I mean really fucking busy.

About a month ago, in an effort to write more, I committed to writing 500 words four times a week. I have done that a grand total of .5 times. The one thing I did start to bang out was this:

At this point in my life, a typical week may consist of most or all of the following: 8am class, watching copious amounts of porn and getting paid for it, on stage or a tour bus with a high profile rapper, sitting in a basement with a bunch of other addicts, helping these addicts save their lives, believing these same addicts want to save mine, being unbelievably sweet to my girlfriend while being racked with fear that she wants someone who isn’t such a mush, wishing my sister was ok with herself, wondering why I can’t find time to get to the gym more, wishing my schedule was more in align with my friends, explaining to the FBI why I was almost an hour late to a 10am meeting, explaining to my boss that the 20 minute phonecall wasn’t me dicking around but about the iTunes deal we are brokering, wishing I could have sex with my girlfriend more regardless of how often we already have sex, studying First Amendment law while checking Facebook and watching football, wondering why I night I am convinced that I can do the next day on 4 hours sleep and than waking up feeling like I am willing to blow a small farm animal for four more hours sleep, loving hip-hop, hating hip-hop, wondering if that sponsee is ever going to call, wonder why that sponsee won’t stop fucking calling me, packing up the coffeepot for her to take with her to the stripclub, wondering if trading Young Matt Ronnie Brown for the Bronco’s D is a good idea, couple nights of 4 hours sleep, couple nights of 13 hours sleep, pressing refresh on the browser of my Blackberry because Facebook is the ONLY site my company blocks at work…

Which coincidentally, ties into this post.

Two nights last week, I was cooking full on dinners at 3am. Because I am so caught up in the things I have to do, I have no time for the things I want to do.

Here’s the bare bones of stuff I have going on: 50 hours a week at the day job, 2 classes (One requires a ton of time, one requires no time. One is a law class, one is a magazine editing class. You figure it out.), magazine stuff, recovery stuff, girlfriend stuff. Friends and social life are so far down on the list, they aren’t even making the list anymore. Shits so busy that I am on the list and supposed to get up with Aubrey and Sean P for the Sean P/Raekwon show here in Philly tonight and since my girl is in the Chi, the idea of going home and reading appeals to me more.

Now that may look like a busy, but not real busy, list of things on my plate. But here’s the thing: all the unforeseen intangibles and deviations that take up time.

Take recovery. There it is. But what that means is at least 3 or 4 meetings a week. Time for that. I am sponsoring about 3.5 guys right now. (The .5 is because I have two that are half-assing it, so I figure together they probably equal a half for the time it takes me to read their text messages of bullshit about why they aren’t around or in contact.) Then you figure I have to fit in my own stepwork, interacting with other addicts, secretary of the area duties and getting out the minutes, and you begin to see how looking deeper it can eat up the clock. A different impression than just reading “recovery.” Don’t get it twisted, not complaining at all. It is what it is.

Magazine stuff. This one has been a roller coaster. You figure between my boss barking at me about being on the phone and internet usage off the charts (Yes, I am finally getting in trouble for NOT watching porn at work…) trying to handle mag stuff here is difficult. And trying to fit those 50 hours of work around classes means that I am at the day job a lot. So you figure all those duties. Between getting writers, photogs, pictures, in touch with DJs and artists and labels and managers, then making sure the interviews actually pop off, then making sure I get all the content, and then editing it… And by now we all know to plan for about 20% of fuck-ups or changes in plans. (This issues? The cover-story writer taping over the interview with the artist. On purpose.) Now, it was hectic when doing it full-time, imagine it with today’s schedule. And a huge shoutout goes to Rockalepsy because he is the one holding this ship together right now. Make NO mistakes about that one AT ALL. Just because there’s a lot of work or unmanagability for me, does not mean that I got it the worst.

In any event, one of the things that is frustrating is that I don’t really feel like I am doing anything I am really passionate about. Dayjob watching porn? Not really. School? In theory it sounds good, but journalism? These days? I wonder if all the places I tried to freelance at, with the experience I already have, the reason I couldn’t even get an email returned when I was offering to work for free was because I didn’t have a degree. Magazine stuff? Look. There was a time and a place where we had fire for that. But in the almost 5 years that we have done it, with the ups and downs, I think we are all drained and going through the motions. So why are we doing it? There’s a situation that would provide insta-flame for us. It looks good, but we know well enough not to get excited or count those eggs until the paperwork is signed.

And it’s strange because two of the things I am blazahy about (school/journalism’s future and the magazine), I feel like I could be more excited, if I just had the time.

I am excited about magazine stuff because I love the music, I love owning my own business, I love being on stage with Ghostface, I love being able to call Kid Capri, I love having built something I am proud of when the odds were against us. And the deal we are working on is CRAZY. Like game and industry changing crazy. I try and pace my excitement, but it could be really major.

I get excited about writing, because even though things are rough and tough and real in the field, it also feels like it is a time for real creativity and innovation. Something will emerge. It’s a question of what and when. I think the magazine experience has given me a sense of believing in myself, and being capable of beating the odds. I have faith in my skill set and what I can do, offer and bring to the table. There’s a lot going on, and I want to be a part of it. I read things like this and look at people like George that has eternal optimism and try and be a part of the solution and not just complain about the problem and it inspires me. He put this together and sent me a proposal yesterday about “backpack journalism” workshops he is putting together for the Spring. (What is “backpack journalism?” Read this.)

Plus, throw into the mix trying to step-up web presence stuff, all tied in to branding, freelancing, etc. MySpace, Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, this site, my professional experience blog, trying to synch them, update them… That is a job in and of itself. Since I didn’t really care about it, or understand the significance, until recently, I’m a little behind. I didn’t have a Facebook account until a month or so ago. I’m still trying to unravel that. (Who sees what? What’s the difference between my News Feed, Live News Feed and Updates?) Imagine trying to synch it all. Fail.

But…

Can’t cut out work, got to pay the bills.

Can’t cut out school because I’m trying to learn and give myself every advantage. (This is partly fueled by my futile efforts to freelance. My naitivity thought with my experience it would be easy. Wrong.)

Can’t cut out magazine stuff because we are so close and that’s my baby. Although some days I think it may catch a case of the SIDS.

Can’t cut out the girl cuz that’s my heart and future wifey.

Can’t cut out my peoples, even though they are already sending out search teams for me I been so MIA, because that’s my team.

So what do I want to do? I want to read more. I am sick of the horrifical communication law textbook. I have a laundry list of books I want to get to. I want to write more. A lot more. Freelance, fiction, creative non-fiction. All the above. I am sick of reading about writing, thinking about writing, talking about writing, blogging about writing, reading about those who write, and not fucking writing. I want to paint more. I want to get to the gym more. (This isn’t one of those making an excuse things. When I had more time I was going. But for the past month it hasn’t really fit in the schedule.) But realtalk? Some days by the time I get home I got nothing left in me. It’s not a discipline thing, it’s a lack of energy thing. I want to turn on the TV and zone the fuck out.

I said it before and I will say it again. I am still waiting for Google to invent a 26 or 28 hour day.

It took me two days to post this.