Play It Safe-ville
A cool cloudy day, a good day to work on too long neglected web projects, do the laundry, vacuum the apartment. Am I feeling better? Any day I can say "do the laundry" straight faced is a good day, although it might be better to couch it in hipper terms. And (I hate to admit it) I have the chemicals necessary to do the four rolls of black and white film I have around here somewhere (Where, come to think of it? They were in my jacket yesterday. Did I dump them in the fanny pack with the unexposed rolls? Probably. Wouldn't surprise me.). I've no doubt jinxed it saying it before doing it, but maybe that's the idea. I have not a clue about motivations anymore, never did, but now (with age, maturity, distinction?) I admit it.
Corny, but we're obviously in a good mood.
Yes, yes. Who knows for how long. Shame to waste it on laundry, but it would be nice to get this company web project I've been avoiding off the dime. Something for the resume. Everything these days if for the resume. Work is nothing more than preparation for the resume, a way to get out of this rut, this where do you go now boy-o rut I'm hunkered in.
Repetitive, don't you think? If this is a practice space, don't you think we should strive for diversity if not clarity?
Maybe. I was talking to one of the women at the office and mentioned this "stuck" business. We're all thinking we could be out on the street next year, don't want to think about it, but thinking about it none the less. Mortgages to pay, families to feed, the usual (lions! and tigers! and bears!) fear with a capital "F". As I was talking I realized (my, my) she might fill this very void should I but get to know her better, the standard solution to the standard problem. Is that all this is? The one fits all solution to every problem since puberty? I hope not. Sure, meet Ms. Right, darkness becomes light, but Ms. Right is more romantic image than reality. Not an image you want to banish, you understand, not when you're a hopeless romantic yourself, but I was hoping for something more reliable, more attainable along the lines of a writing or a photo project, a change (for a year or two) in employment, a road trip cross country with a satellite link.
You do go on. What's got you stuck?
Comfort. I'm not all that uncomfortable. The work isn't all that tragic. The weekends are nice, I like writing my daily couple of paragraphs, I like poking around with the camera. The work is hectic, but I've eliminated the commute giving me a two hour head start; two hours to coddle the head, sooth the nerves, read the paper, write words, shoot pictures. I've screwed the work day down to nine hours, out the door and back, lunch included. It's scary outside and pay checks are comforting. The 401k looks nice on paper. Health insurance is helpful when they mention you have cancer. When they say you don't have cancer (anymore), but better keep an eye on it cause it can come back any time, today or tomorrow. Your first thought isn't to quit.
Comfort, however, is watching the world roll along wondering: what's for dinner? What's on television? What's to write tonight: kitty cats and corny crap and little lambs eat ivy? Well, yes. That's "comfortable". Say hello to the lady down the hall and turn your world into a wind tunnel? Sounds like a step outside, sounds like lions and tigers and bears, doesn't sound like life here in play it safe-ville.
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