Room 342

Another Friday night spent in a hotel room.
Another weekend away, and Monday is just around the corner.
The weeks are flying by, there isn't any time for anything it feels like.

So, here I sit in my room, at not my desk, with a jarring headache. I'm in the middle of projects, damage control, looming deadlines, new campaigns, after a long, hard, freezingly painful day, and all I can think of is how I want to record these musical ideas that haven't left me since I left Salt Lake. All I can think of is Moby, how someone a while ago said I had the confidence and creative vision of Don Draper (independently of them knowing I like that show, and him...as much as a Christian can and should like someone like Don Draper...), and that I want to be in my own bed and be home reading my books.

It's nice to go to the bar and order whatever, and say "charge it to my room".
I wish all of life were like that, but then again, I'd be foolish and the dessert wouldn't be a sweet treat anymore. Everything would be vain, more than it is now, and the thrill of the chase would be rabbits and foxes eating each other with no order to red tape and formalities.

What I mean to say is, it's a hell of a situation. Everything is taken care of, because I am forced to have my life remote from my life, and it's a nice luxury, but pales grossly in comparison to actually being home, and actually being with those I love. All I want is to be around and look you in the eyes and hear you talk and smile because it's all so real.