Thursday night, I went out to a farewell dinner with the project team I’m part of at work. Three hours later, I got home, slightly drunk, talking to my mom over the phone and I laid down on my bed, clothes on, and passed out while on the phone. I woke up three hours later and took my clothes off. Total amount of sleep: nine hours, which is incredibly unusual for me during the week.

Work wise, my project load is neck deep, like almost waving and drowning at this point. Combine this with beginning the process of buying a house and dealing with all of this stress alone, I’m becoming a bit of a miserable bastard. My back actually hurts from the stress, probably because I feel like I’m benching the fucking world. I’ll probably even be working on work stuff over the long weekend (it wouldn’t be a Labor Day without some labor, son) just to try to get ahead. My true long weekend comes in thirteen days, when I perform with Gregory Sherl and see my doctor for my annual (yay check up). I’m sure he will tell me that I am a sleep deprived bastard and to sleep more and I will tell him to invent a cure for sleep.

I’ve been a bit emotionally closed off as of late. I’ve taken some time for myself to really look inside myself and figure out what I’m doing wrong when it comes to choosing the people I want to be with and not been so eager to date/declare marriage as I’ve done in the past. I know it’s been a big failing of mine and I think all the work professionally and personally has kept my mind off of it for the most part. This is very unlike me to be so, well so not gushing, not thinking about future things with anyone. Maybe I’m detoxing. I don’t know. I’ll admit it gets a little lonely but then I push forward doing what I do, working my ass off.

I have a poem up in the latest issue of Red Lightbulbs which you can read here.

The latest installment of I Am Trying To Break Your Sex Laws is here. You’ll see a new column going forward every Wednesday.

I talk about my experiences with live hip hop over at Hip Hop Hooray Press over here.


Join the conversation! 2 Comments

  1. Just work and enjoy. The future, as a daily consideration, is a bit overrated. I think you know this, though. Keep on mackin’…what else is there? lol

    • I’m a constant long range forecaster. It’s my curse and yet it has saved my ass countless times looking at all possibilities, like Nic Cage in NEXT. The grind can get to you sometimes.


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About J. Bradley

J. Bradley's is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominated writer whose work has appeared in numerous literary journals including decomP, Hobart, and Prairie Schooner. He was the Interviews Editor of PANK, the Flash Fiction Editor of NAP, and the Web Editor of Monkeybicycle. He is the author of the poetry collection Dodging Traffic (Ampersand Books, 2009), the novella Bodies Made of Smoke (HOUSEFIRE, 2012), and the graphic poetry collection The Bones of Us (YesYes Books, 2014), illustrated by Adam Scott Mazer. He is the curator of the Central Florida reading series There Will Be Words and lives at

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