Mornings are, at best, an abrasive time for me. The alarm Monday through Friday is startling. Getting ready for work (I put minimum effort into this) is completed in a five-seven minute long stupor. Then there is the goodbye. The warmth of the bed and the half-asleep Brian. And saying goodbye is plain sad.
So when I look out of my work window (thank all the Gods for that), I wish I were not in my cubicle. Sure, you say, everyone feels like that. And I ask, how can people continue to do it for so long? One of those jets has flown by and left a stream of white smoke in its wake. How can I be here, sitting here, typing pretty little file names for so long? Sure, you say, everyone does that.
Everyone is a tricky term. Everyone can take a picture of an artwork to prove they saw it and that they experienced it. That’s a part of the art world system, certainly. The Everyone is part of the human system. However, it’s always the old, “Anyone could do that,” but did you? You didn’t present the world with a black canvas or taxidermy animals.
I’m thinking of all the writers out there writing “content”; I’m thinking of the graphic designing artist…I’m thinking of Pussy Riot. And I’ll keep naming those files until I can get myself to live up to my own expectations.