Going to Work
I got up this morning, among horrible news on NPR, utterly exhausted and grumbled over whether or not to take my guitar with me to work. I have class tonight and we are supposed to bring some of our art with us to share. My teacher asked if I would share my music, even though I came to the class in hopes of getting ideas for a career in visual art. Did I really want to lug my guitar in its original 50 lb. case all the way uptown, just to play a song for 6 people?
I’m unbelievably tired because where I work has been keeping me late and through lunch hours to finish a particular project. I missed Felicia’s reading last night, because I got out so late. This is really bad for me. Although I am extremely grateful for a paycheck, let’s just say MY GIFTS LAY ELSEWHERE than an office setting. So coupled by the 1.5 roundtrip commute and the 8+ hours that I have been putting in, I’m feeling a bit, shall we say, FRAGILE and GRUMPY. Some might even say UNFULFILLED and SHAVED TO THE NERVE.
Last night I started to try to think of alternate terms for my day-job. “Work” doesn’t seem to cut it. Neither does “my job,” because literally speaking, I don’t believe my job in this world is to get well acquainted with office equipment and to say things like “TGIF” and “FYI.” I like to believe that my job in this world is to be a beacon of hope, to be the patron saint of people who walk around feeling SCREWED. I like to believe my job in this world is to live out what means the most to me. If that means singing about road trips and lonely children, or drawing a picture of crazy wall-eyed French philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre—that seems to me pretty darn apropriate. As it happens, I couldn’t come up with any alternate terms for the place that I go all day, five times a week, in exchange for money.
In the end I decided to take the guitar and guess what? Something amazing happened. I was on the subway, with this feeling of recognition coming over me. “Oh, YEAH! THIS is who I am!” I wasn’t just the slob in the ponytail in glasses reading the latest in a string of books. I was the REAL me again. I walked through Grand Central, swinging my black case and felt that sense of purpose return. The place I was going, was just a means to an end, but my tools: my heart, my eyes, my mind, and yes, my guitar were ready for business—the real business of going out into the world, ready for work.
I’m unbelievably tired because where I work has been keeping me late and through lunch hours to finish a particular project. I missed Felicia’s reading last night, because I got out so late. This is really bad for me. Although I am extremely grateful for a paycheck, let’s just say MY GIFTS LAY ELSEWHERE than an office setting. So coupled by the 1.5 roundtrip commute and the 8+ hours that I have been putting in, I’m feeling a bit, shall we say, FRAGILE and GRUMPY. Some might even say UNFULFILLED and SHAVED TO THE NERVE.
Last night I started to try to think of alternate terms for my day-job. “Work” doesn’t seem to cut it. Neither does “my job,” because literally speaking, I don’t believe my job in this world is to get well acquainted with office equipment and to say things like “TGIF” and “FYI.” I like to believe that my job in this world is to be a beacon of hope, to be the patron saint of people who walk around feeling SCREWED. I like to believe my job in this world is to live out what means the most to me. If that means singing about road trips and lonely children, or drawing a picture of crazy wall-eyed French philosopher, Jean-Paul Sartre—that seems to me pretty darn apropriate. As it happens, I couldn’t come up with any alternate terms for the place that I go all day, five times a week, in exchange for money.
In the end I decided to take the guitar and guess what? Something amazing happened. I was on the subway, with this feeling of recognition coming over me. “Oh, YEAH! THIS is who I am!” I wasn’t just the slob in the ponytail in glasses reading the latest in a string of books. I was the REAL me again. I walked through Grand Central, swinging my black case and felt that sense of purpose return. The place I was going, was just a means to an end, but my tools: my heart, my eyes, my mind, and yes, my guitar were ready for business—the real business of going out into the world, ready for work.
posted by Summer Pierre at
3:50 PM
3 Comments:
Great Post!
This post made me smile...not because I'm mocking your pain...but because I've been there so many times. It also brought to mind "Clockwatchers" with Parker Posey...I love the office hideousness that film conveyed. But it was a bit of an old-school feel...offices don't feel like that anymore (thank GOD). :) Sometimes all a gal needs is a PROP...for me the other day it was putting my Superhero necklace...
word to your mother, sister. try feeling like a normal human being who hasn't completely sold out while eating bkfst in a POSH hongkong hotel and headed to china to try to "negotiate with" (i.e. strangle) vendors for better deals. ugh. my life is so wierd right now. but this is more of an email than a response to your post. ALAS, another brilliant post from you, thank you. i miss you.
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