Without getting into what I do, both because it would bore you and because I don’t have the strength to explain it, let’s just get into this: in my first four years at my job, I averaged about 67 projects a year – a good, steady pace, but one that allowed me to maintain a lot of me-time for personal phone calls. Last year was my fifth year in my position and I was incredibly busy, especially in the later half of the year, and completed 94 projects. To put this in perspective, no other co-worker has ever done more than 100 or so projects in a year in the history of what I do, so I almost broke the record. Yay for me.

But there’s this: this year, my sixth, it’s only the first week of March, but I’m on pace for 196 projects. One-hundred-ninety-six. This would be the equivalent of hitting 28 home runs in April, rushing for 600 yards in the first two games of the season, or scoring 40 in the first quarter. Six years in, I’m hitting my prime and ready to explode.

I discovered this the other day when I was talking to my buddy Brian and telling him that, between how busy I’ve been at work, the rage I feel toward LA and its traffic, and how I need to get laid so badly that I spend upwards of eleven hours a day shaking, I just might turn into a serial killer. Not a good one – definitely one of the impotent ones who kills a victim accidentally and then simultaneously shits and ejaculates at the scene out of fear – but a serial killer nonetheless. Although Brian then pointed out how much work and physical exertion that would take and I decided that I’m more suited to arson than serial killing. So we’ll see how that turns out.

But at least, with a little research, I was able to provide statistics to back up my inadequacy in a number of areas in my life:

- I’m too busy at work, so I can’t work out, thus I’m gaining weight;

- I’m too busy at work, so I have neither the time nor the desire to be creative, so I’m not “writing” anything;

- I’m too busy at work, so when I have five beers I get bombed and, invariably, cry while watching old American Idol reruns; and

- I’m too busy at work, so I can’t get laid (not sure the exact correlation, but I’m convinced they’re related).

There we have it. The first step is recognizing the problem. I’m not sure what the next step is, but I hope it’s complaining. Because I’m ready to really immerse myself into that. Like, big time.