I seek out the softened edges, but I don’t seek out sleep.
Sleep is a time for letting go completely, giving up entirely,
and I haven’t reached that stage
in my amateur production otherwise known as life.
I mean, the best parts are all the parts I’m not getting paid for,
so of course it’s an amateur production.
As one snobby ex-girlfriend sniffed at something my dad had crafted with his own bare hands:
“It’s not professional.”
I mean, of course, the best things we do, the things we spend the most of our souls (not our time) doing are amateur.
We don’t go to worship God as professionals (most of us).
We don’t write poems as professionals.
We don’t plunk out jazzy riffs on the keyboard or guitar as pros.
But, these are our best parts.
Sure, we spend more time sleeping and making money,
But, how many of us make money doing something that sees us completely investing our souls?
That snobby ex-girlfriend was an amateur prostitute–she called it: serial monogamy. She poured her heart and soul into discovering new men in their naked states, but she didn’t accept cash for her transactions.
I’ve poured my soul into what? Being a random fool of words for my own personal pleasure. Not even touching anyone else enough to be labeled promiscuous. Just a damn, onanistic fool.