Day Job v. Art?
 
Like pretty much every artist in the History of Forever, I have a day job. It's a fine job that covers the health insurance and groceries and home repairs. It helps keep a roof over our heads. 

The places where I work have changed over the years, but the job itself is more or less the same: I revise and edit procedures and policies that other people have written. It makes me absurdly satisfied to take a jumble of someone else's thoughts and clarify them so that they're concise and easy to understand. It's a weird satisfaction, but there it is.

My own work gets done in the early morning, before heading off to the day job. Or in the evening. Or--and don't tell anyone this--there was a stretch of time  when I'd sneak it in during work. 

This post isn't about hating the day job, though. There are crap days, for sure.  And I gotta tell ya: it's exhausting at times. But I've been playing this game long enough to know that the day job provides me with material. Lots and lots of material. An office party gets skewered in a 10-minute play. A senior manager's quirk shows up in a character or three. 

I teach playwriting in my off-hours, too. And I always tell my students that having a day job is essential for studying human behavior.  For staying afloat while working on the first or fifth or nineteenth draft of the play you love and can't quit. For being out in the world and being engaged...and for not writing plays about writers. (But that's another post for another day.)

On the other hand, y'all, I've been living this dual (sometimes triple and quadruple) life for a long time.  It's time to start easing out of Cubicle Land, bit by bit. Care to join me?