After racing is ended, the long drive over, body weary and sore, real life begins again. It feels much like turning a corner into an alternate dimension where things happen frustratingly, teeth-grindingly slowly and common sense is an uncommon virtue. I try to view it as a brief interlude to help refill depleted coffers.
It is an interesting conundrum, spending inordinate amounts of time doing something you don't particularly enjoy in order to be able to spend tiny bits of time doing something you do. The alternative, I guess, is to make your living doing something you love. That, however is to walk the razor's edge and risk loathing the thing that once added meaning to your life. The lucky few, maybe, can pull it off. The rest of us have to work. And it ain't happy fun-time.
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