Wednesday, January 11, 2006


The problem with me is that I'm lazy. Ok, I guess I shouldn't put it that way. Makes me sound bad. And like I'm truly capable of doing NOTHING all day. More correctly, I just enjoy leisure. Sitting by the window with a good book, getting in bed to watch a long movie, eating a marvelous meal with my favorite show on tv. I like the idea that I have no responsibilities outside of work. That my evenings and weekends are mine to squander at will. They really are, too. Which may just be my core issue.

I tried once to get a schedule together:

Monday=free night, to adjust to the work week
Tuesday=tv night, too much good stuff on
Wednesday=exercise (resist the flab)
Thursday=painting, while watching tv of course (two birds...)
Friday=reading, to tackle the pile of books I've accumulated
Saturday=writing, get up early and do at least 10 pages (right)

Guess how long this lasted. I am so good at making plans for things like this, but not so good at long-term follow through. I hate feeling hemmed in by rules and rushed by deadlines. It's mainly why I hated J-school and never became a photojournalist. As if your average college syllabi weren't stringent enough to drive me insane.

I just want to be free. Alas, for that to apply to me I need to do something other than sit at my lame-ass job all day and answer phones. I need to create. Paint, write, photograph, make music, draw...I know that these things make me feel good, like I'm worth something to the world even if no one notices. Why do I resist them so much? For almost a year I returned to painting after a twelve year hiatus. When I ran out of ideas I allowed my brushes to dry and gave up. I'm smart enough to know that it doesn't work that way! Sometimes you have to push yourself. Force the art through your fingertips. Get whatever you can onto the page, burned into film or played out on your instrument. Living with the crap in your dry period makes a real artist.

So, that's it. I cannot deal with my own suckage. When I feel The Sucking coming on, I stop. I resist. As if stopping suddenly will mean I no longer suckass. It doesn't. It only means I can pretend to be golden. Forever.

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