i read some bullshit top ten list somewhere recently about people’s biggest regrets in life, one of them being “i wish i didn’t work so hard and so often”.

a sentiment like that makes me want to spend some time working on digging up the grave of whatever weak fuck oozed that thought out so i could punch him in the fucking dick.

i’m tired of getting frowned upon for being the guy who never goes out, who isn’t attentive enough to engagements in life that apparently build fonder memories and make the process of dying easier.

my work isn’t a part of me, my work is me. my work is what i am, that is my life. instead of getting a sore ass about me being a shut-in, why don’t you shut the fuck up and bring me some coffee so i can get this painting done today.