BUSINESS, thou Plague and Pleasure of my Life,

Thou charming Mistress, thou vexatious Wife;

Thou Enemy, thou Friend, to Joy, to Grief,

Thou bring’st me all, and bring’st me no Relief,

Thou bitter, sweet, thou pleasing, teazing Thing,

Thou Bee, that with thy Honey wears a Sting;

Some Respite, prithee do, yet do not give,

I cannot with thee, nor without thee live.

BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

The Busy-Man’s Picture

VI Mon. August [1742] hath xxxi days.

Damn, damn, damn and damn. Each weekend grows worse, a never-ending 48 hours of toil. My days off are no ones and no ones days off are mine. I’m sad, beaten and barely functional after 12+ hours out in the field and then editing in the office each day. In fact, I write to you from my desk in a silent newsroom at 1am tonight. So I present to you a quick series, “Instead of… (what I really should be doing)”:

• Instead of breaking hearts and kissing girls
• Instead of making a dent in my unread book collection
• Instead of drinking wine and falling asleep at an unusually early hour
• Instead of watching a Woody Allen movie marathon
• Instead of decorating my apartment like an adult
• Instead of…