The Biennial

Dan at the Biennial.


The angel and the devil came back.

This week, the magazine I work at made some management changes which means that all of the things I've been working on have been put on hold until the dust settles. So that means for the last three days I have been creating Excel documents for the sake of having something to do. I am so bored I could die.

So I began to wonder, in between checking brashlion for the twentieth time in an hour, should I have taken that permanent job? At least then I am spending my day doing something worthwhile. I am taken with respect. I am not asked to make copies for meetings that I am not invited to attend. I have a paycheck that comes in every two weeks. I have health insurance. My career will advance. I will progress.

But isn't it a sign of insanity to keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect a different result? Because I am not sure that going back to what I used to do would bring me happiness either.

And quite frankly, despite my complete and utter boredom, this job is just what I need because I come home with so much pent up energy that working on my book in the evenings is a nice release, a letting go of the creative energy that I've been denied to use all day. So I am wondering if this is just a case of "be careful what you wish for" combined with "the grass is always greener."

I guess what's troubling me is that if you asked me really honesty, where do I want my career to go, the real answer is I want to be a published author, and that's all. And quite frankly, I'm scared as shit. Because I know that 99% of the time, that answer does not work out. What makes me the exception? Am I fooling myself? Should I just grow up and get a real job?

My thoughts on all this heightened on Wednesday to the point where I almost said fuck the madness and shove M&Ms down my throat, but instead I didn't. I quietly went home, amused myself with an enlightening episode of Girls Next Door, and then joined Dan and my friend Danielle to go to a special evening at the Whitney Museum's Biennial, an exhibit that highlights new up-and-coming artists.

I was hoping to walk away inspired by all the artwork, but like most modern art, I looked at the random crap hanging on the walls with a shrug and instead fixated on the super cool artsy clothes that the attendees were wearing. If being an artist means wearing clothes like that, then I'm in.

The first week of the madness came to an end, and the angel and devil quit battling by Friday, my email in-box buzzed with freelance job prospects that I cannot accept since I am "working." I worked out 6 days, I ate my vegetables, I did consume some white carbs (I asked for brown rice at the sushi restaurant but they only had white--what can you do?). I had one glass of wine. I did not eat one sweet thing and believe it or not, I am still alive.