Wednesday, November 02, 2005
This is me. This is me on deadline.
I created this little work of art almost six years ago, during the month I spent living with my parents before I headed off to England. It's what I imagine Andy Warhol might have done, had he been forced to spend an entire month living with his parents, with only a webcam and some really low-rent photo editing software to amuse himself.
It's also how I feel right now.
It's not fair to blame the deadlines, because it's not really the deadlines' fault. It's the things that are keeping me from making any sort of meaningful progress toward the deadlines--the petty office dramas and the stupid chores that keep piling up--that are driving me to a Technicolor scream. It's the fact that even the bright spots that have come along over the past few days, no matter how bright they might be, seem to be dulled again much too quickly by this stress and tension. It's the way the little things seem to keep going wrong, like when I came home at lunch to get my laptop so I could work outside and maybe, just maybe get an hour of peace, and I found that my trackpad had frozen. And so I couldn't get the computer to shut down and had to pull out a screwdriver and detach the battery, and the whole time I kept thinking, "Why? Why did the trackpad have to pick this day, this hour, this minute to screw up on me?"
When I created this Warhol-inspired picture oh so many years ago, I had to fake a scream; otherwise, my parents would've heard me and wondered what was up. (I'm not a fan of pulling Marissa Cooper-like tantrums with them.) But I think maybe that's part of my problem now. I need more than just an artistic outlet. What I really need right now is an honest-to-goodness, from-the-gut, throw-all-the-lawn furniture-in-the-pool kind of scream.
I created this little work of art almost six years ago, during the month I spent living with my parents before I headed off to England. It's what I imagine Andy Warhol might have done, had he been forced to spend an entire month living with his parents, with only a webcam and some really low-rent photo editing software to amuse himself.
It's also how I feel right now.
It's not fair to blame the deadlines, because it's not really the deadlines' fault. It's the things that are keeping me from making any sort of meaningful progress toward the deadlines--the petty office dramas and the stupid chores that keep piling up--that are driving me to a Technicolor scream. It's the fact that even the bright spots that have come along over the past few days, no matter how bright they might be, seem to be dulled again much too quickly by this stress and tension. It's the way the little things seem to keep going wrong, like when I came home at lunch to get my laptop so I could work outside and maybe, just maybe get an hour of peace, and I found that my trackpad had frozen. And so I couldn't get the computer to shut down and had to pull out a screwdriver and detach the battery, and the whole time I kept thinking, "Why? Why did the trackpad have to pick this day, this hour, this minute to screw up on me?"
When I created this Warhol-inspired picture oh so many years ago, I had to fake a scream; otherwise, my parents would've heard me and wondered what was up. (I'm not a fan of pulling Marissa Cooper-like tantrums with them.) But I think maybe that's part of my problem now. I need more than just an artistic outlet. What I really need right now is an honest-to-goodness, from-the-gut, throw-all-the-lawn furniture-in-the-pool kind of scream.
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