I wrote a blog instead of being productive and now I’m calling it art

I should be here, contemplating the glory of nature like the grand master I am

As I’m sitting here, killing time until I meet someone from Craigslist to pick up an old couch of mine, it occurs to me that I’m really super over being an adult and that I am simply too gentle an artiste for this cruel world. I mean, seriously. I have to do taxes? I have great thoughts to think and beautiful pieces of music to listen to and there are so, so many good books out there I don’t even know about. I just found a 30-minute loop of Bach’s “Air on the G String” on YouTube and now I have to like interface with humans? Yech.

I mean, sure I hardly ever create art, not even blogs, but does a lack of actual art make me less of an artist?

I’m an artist in my soul, where it counts and stuff. I have so much to offer that isn’t answering e-mails, yet the base needs of the body (why so expensive, Whole Foods salad bar?) prevent me from living the unshackled life of the mind I so deserve. Also Sephora. Sephora is definitely like the opium den of my life, providing so much pleasure yet preventing me from actually achieving anything. If I could just get paid enough to have the middle-aged hipster lifestyle I so crave and not have to work or do laundry, that would be optimal.

But seriously now, I really resent all the time I spend like exercising (okay, so not that much time) and cooking and scrubbing the grout in my bathroom. I am too damn special for grout! Grout is a suboptimal life condition and I would like it to stop being my problem, effective immediately. After I got out of grad school, I totes thought that I was going to have limitless time, like eons of time, to devote to my leisure. HA! Once you take care of the terrible, no-good, very bad parts of being an adult, such as maintaining minimal hygiene standards and sleeping more than 5 hours a night, you have, on average .002 hours of every week of freedom.

I wish I were like one of those rich Silicon Valley people who outsource like, their whole lives. Except I wouldn’t do it so I could spend more time at work. I would outsource my grocery shopping and the like so I could get caught up on what’s truly important in life, such as the last season of “Game of Thrones.” Instead, I’ll spend my evening looking for the statement on the interest I paid on student loans last year, because that’s a great fucking use of an intellect like mine. Your loss, humanity. Your loss.