On Labor Day, I sit here thinking about the job I gave up and the job I gave myself. Sure, I forfeited a shitload of money, but I also lost that drained feeling that bred cubicle fantasies about holidays like today.
Now, after a two-day word flurry, I hover at the keyboard with nothing left to give it; I'd lick the letters if I thought they'd give me more. But I'm a bad gambler's last chip - spent, done, word-wasted. And I couldn't feel better.
People say to "find what feeds you." Sure. But I think you also have to find what empties you. What takes your leaves and branches until you're a naked stump, heart bursting? Go find it.
Happy Labor Day.