work

It seems as if the world is conspiring against me. I am angry, frustrated, tired, and incredibly sad. Feeling rage. I don’t know why. I know work has been difficult and time-consuming. I’ve put in a lot of energy to make things right, to make things work, to make things go well. And things have gone well. But I still feel something akin to rage. I feel rage. It’s in my stomach, in the shape of a molecule, a molecule that is twisted and rendered tight, tied in a knot. I’m listening to Bon Iver sing, “At once I knew, I was not magnificent.” Maybe that’s part of the problem. You work so fucking hard, and you’re not magnificent. Nobody really gives a shit. As long as you don’t create a catastrophe, people are ok with you. And they carry on, without saying shit to you. Maybe that’s the world we live in.

In art, I am magnificent, I am beautiful, I am capable of genius. At work I am none of those things, at least I haven’t been notified yet by any colleagues that this is the case. Maybe I’m part of a generation that needs to be patted on the back just for showing up. But I work hard. I put my heart on the line. I put my soul into the work. I am compensated fairly.

But this song is more beautiful than any of that stuff. I feel like I shouldn’t care about that bullshit. Here’s to you Bon Iver. A toast. A glass of champagne. A little start to a big evening of dancing and revelry. You, too, Bon iVer, you too are beautiful. “Christmas night, clutched the light, the hollow bright.” You, too, are magnificent. You, too, are beautiful. Like my sister and my family and my bride to be. The love I feel is beautiful and magnificent.

Any day now.  I shall be released.

with nothing (not in a bad way),
Anthony

Ladies and Gentleman, Nina Simone