the meaning of a day,
by the hands of a clock,
is just a drop
inside an ocean
Biff: I tell ya, Hap, I don’t know what the future is. I don’t know—what I’m supposed to want.
Happy: What do you mean?
Biff: Well, I spent six or seven years after high school trying to work myself up. Shipping clerk, salesman, business of one kind or another. And it’s a measly manner of existence. To get on that subway on the hot mornings in summer. To devote your whole life to keeping stock, or making phone calls, or selling or buying. To suffer fifty weeks of the year for the sake of a two-week vacation, when all you really desire is to be outdoors, with your shirt off. And always to have to get ahead of the next fella. And still—that’s how you build a future.
Happy: Well, you really enjoy it on a farm? Are you content out there?
Biff: Hap, I’ve had twenty or thirty different kinds of jobs since I left home before the war, and it always turns out the same. I just realized it lately. In Nebraska when I herded cattle, and the Dakotas, and Arizona, and now in Texas. It’s why I came home now, I guess, because I realized it. This farm I work on, it’s spring there now, see? …And whenever spring comes to where I am, I suddenly get the feeling, my God, I’m not gettin’ anywhere! What the hell am I doing, playing around with horses, twenty-eight dollars a week! I’m thurty-four years old, I oughta be makin’ my future. That’s when I come running home. And now, I get here, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve always made it a point of not wasting my life, and every time I come back here, I know that all I’ve done is to waste my life.” —Death of a Salesman - Arthur Miller
Than the water to gorge on
Plunge your face in a brook
To wash the desire away
A fool to drink
To drink and not taste” —James Dean
I’ll see your rain and burnt toast and raise you a successful kale, sesame, ginger stir-fry and unexpectedly large paycheck.
[Side note: this song is keeping me going today.]