Another one of those mornings that made me question my decision to take on a second, 25-hour per week*, job. Why exactly was I limiting my session to a mere 30 minutes? After the 20-minute fight through the whitewater to the perfect, classic, heartbreakingly overhead and hollow outside, I had exactly enough time to turn around and catch a wave in.

What, exactly, triggered me to swap my surf time away? A compelling need to re-enact my SoCal commuter lifestyle? A desire to have the already threadbare safety net of Medi-Cal ripped out from under me*? A complete inability to pass up opportunity?* A perverse draw toward self-destruction by overcommitment; if doing it all is too much to do, then I am consistently a failure and have a reason to drink myself into an early oblivion? (It’s 5 a.m. I can be melodramatic at this hour. The sun is not yet up.) Because three kids, one of whom is diabetic, plus one already existing 30-hour/week job and a house I must keep up (for my own self, but also because my landlords have reasonably high standards) are not enough?

I think there’s something wrong with my brain.

*technically, 20 – but when you add in the driving time, that’s another 5 hours.

* as of April 1, no fooling.

* Yes, it’s a rare chance to be on air regularly and get paid for it and a great company with lots of perkity perk perks [no cocaine, though, bummer]. Gratitude expressed.