grown-up games.

It's a tough life to get used, the one of trading poles for polo's, hammocks for desk chairs. The day in, day out, continual grind that stays dependant on coffee, strained by countenance. Constant smiles, careful handshakes, drenched in the sun soaked fingers of others. Conversations snap and burst, turn and change, ending suddenly as new business arrives for both parties.
No protests can be made, its all in the description, you signed on the line and now it's time to prove your worth. Sleep is never continuous, always alarm clock melodies stifling the dreams that used to fly with eyes wide-open. Now these visions are locked in the dark, contained in the subconscious, only played over eye lids with cut short intentions.
There is no time to think like that these days, too much hustle and bustle, not enough wonder and procrastination. In this business, in any business, we all must turn a profit in our small ways. The high school gym hustle lessons extrapolated into 'real world' stakes. Go hard or go home, go easy and get behind. All the 4th hour study hall backs of peer t-shirts, worn with pride, streaming a constant knowledge of ideals that could be vital to survival someday.
They're all weighing down on my head these days: the shower, shave, coffee, commute blues. Constant life stuck in motion, prescribed in planners, each hour budgeted for optimal performance.
No more dry dock days scanning clear green waters for darting shadows in the rocks. The lures we cast here are built to catch the shadows on our plane, and we are also darting beneath these monoliths. The bigger players stand above looking down into the murky waters and contemplate pan, jib, or minnow; baits secured to keep us in chase, constantly moving forward. striving. working. We all have the things we choose to follow after, free ideals, new sets of wheels, and a picket fence dream.
These things keep us going, not tabulating efforts or results, just hours in and pay check stubs. Spreadsheet budgets opened over Microsoft shopping lists form this new kind of freedom. Radio waves and local days keep us all far too informed.
There is no looking out when you are encapsulated and immersed in relevant dealings, there is no questioning stare when your eyes are firmly locked on the prize. It gets hard to keep your head up with your nose to the grindstone.
Someday we will look back and see what we have done, someday we will see our squandered lifetimes. No more youth, no more play, it's time for a world full of grown-up games.