the anorexic space between love and hate

Am I spread too thin? I want to do everything.  Maybe being the jack of all trades and master of none is more than just a comfortable conjecture.  I don't really mind, I'd like to take my hobbies as far as my potential allows me too, but right now I feel like it's my lack of free time keeping me from fulfilling my dreams.  On the one hand, working five nights a week is giving me the opportunity to fulfill some of these; but the totally opposite schedules worked by Hannah and I is making us nuts at present.  I see her about two hours a day followed by sleep, she wakes up and goes to work, I do shit for a few hours and go to work, I get home and we hang for an hour or two and go to sleep.

Then I have two days off a week, while she works.  These are the days we see eachother the most, with the vice versa being true also.  Besides that, how do I play enough piano, drum set, sharpen my knives, read my books, practice chi gung, tai ji chuan, gung fu, stretch, study sushi books, prepare to enter school again, pack up my crap to move to a new house and then move to a new house, make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for myself, shop for food, play frisbee golf so I can see my friends once a week or month, complete errands like getting new tires or an oil change for Hannah's car, reformatting a computer or building one for a customer, clean house, do laundry, smoke a bong, take a leisurely bath, go camping, hiking, biking, surfing, rock climbing, walk on a beach, play video games, etc.

how's that for a run-on sentence? All of this and more (ever more) is squished into two impossibly slim days off a week of which much of my time is monopolized (albeit gladly!) by activities in which my partner may also participate so that we may actually see each other more than a couple hours during the week.

I bitch more often than I'd like to, as far as my ideal self is concerned.  Plenty of philosophical and/or esoteric systems of knowledge explain that I am too hard on myself, my idealized perception of what I'd like my reality to be is in fact a story I tell myself to passively frustrate and torture me.  With another Sushi Chef out the door, one leaving for three weeks, another for two, I'm feeling slightly trapped.  I know it's a dream, but in my dream, I'm stuck.

Chapel Perilous remains a paradox.