This last week has been a complete f'in nightmare. I havent' stopped for what seems like ages, and it's finally getting to me. Is this what life will be like forever? Is this the crazy American obsession with all work and no play? Is this it?

I hope not 'cause at this rate I'll never make it to 50, and I've been shooting for 120 since I read about in the Guinness Book of World Records. Of course if I do make it to 120 then I will probably look back on this and laugh and say "Oh what a fool I was." But in the absurd present I am physically taking a beating. It's not the mental stress, which is relatively minor, but the physical stress - being gone from home for 15 hours a day, non-stop at work and the personal life, just wanting to sit on the couch and not being able to - that's the killer. On the plus side I think I'm losing weight, probably muscle though.

I looked back yesterday on the only published piece of writing I've done. It was frustrating. I think my comma use, though grammatically exceptional, was excessive. Sort of like in that last sentence. I think I'll give them a break for awhile and do all I can to avoid the comma. It achieves clarity at the expense of flow. At least that's how I perceived it in the piece. Maybe I was wrong. If anyone reads this they can check it out for themselves here. It's a personal piece so be gentle on the content and vicious on the presentation.

Tip for the day: When taking pictures make sure that your head is perfectly square in relation to the camera. Don't tip or tilt or lean. And don't worry excessively about the body. If you're fat then maybe you'll want to turn sideways a little but not at the expense of the symmetrical face. Square up and I guarantee you'll like the shot.

At what point in time does the sacred flame of our youth begin to sputter? When I was a kid I had a poster of Martin Luther King Jr on my wall, and I had a pretty good idea of what was right and what was wrong. And it was easy for me to declare that I would make the right decisions, never compromise on the side of moral ambiguity, and be my own man - the rest of the world be damned. But in the last few years I've made several compromises that in retrospect appear pretty suspicious. My sacred flame is sputtering. I have not given it the attention it needs nor the attention it deserves.

I don't think it's in danger of going out, but I've never seen the flame waver like it has in the last few years. Is this part of growing up? Is this what being an adult means? I understand compromise. I respect it. But I have a sneaking suspicion that compromise in the "adult world" is really a matter of how immoral one is willing to be. And that I despise.

In one of my favorite novels, the main character gets to pursue the big questions and find out the best way to live. He can live the sacred life because his family left him with a modest guaranteed income. That's the foundation of the entire narrative, and it's the the one thing that makes it fiction. I don't know anyone for whom that kind of life is possible. It may only be possible in the modern world for the super-rich. It's not possible for me, or if it is possible I'm in the dark about it. But, oh, how I would love to live such a life - to carefully tend the sacred flame of my youth - to nurture it into middle age and have it shining forth like a beacon as an old man. We should all be so lucky. But if lady luck has given us the cold shoulder, at least we can be careful and diligent in how we tend our flame.