Searching for Inspiration
There are entire days when, surprise, surprise, I feel about as creative as a footstool. Which is to say, not at all. In case you were confused by my somewhat obscure metaphor. Look, we're getting off the topic, somewhat.
Yesterday, I should have blogged. It should have been a good one, because I had the time. My bosses are out of town and things are quiet in the office*. I even had time to tidy my outbox, so that should excite the Biznatch when she gets back. I made tea, and coffee, and ate all the chocolate-covered-biscuits, took part in the Facebook movie quiz, and am now on 6000 points. I know, I know, you can send congratulations to me on the back of a postcard.
But did I blog? Feck, nay. Bugger did I. I guess I should have taken it as a bad omen that when I went out at lunch to play with my new polariser**. I took some interesting test shot but could I work up any enthusiasm for some sort of creative, interesting, finally- going- to- get- me- back- on- explore nonpareil-wonderment. Or even something that didn't suck boring ba... lemons out of sheer boringness.
Part of the problem is I don't really blog personal stuff. Half of it is...personal****. An the rest- well, people come to me the next day and are all: "so I see you blogged me. We need to chat". My blog is less anonymous than it used to be.
But mostly it's just the dreaded lurgy: not so much writer's block per se as a bad case of the Ehn. Same with Photography: the spark is hissing, the fire is...those little coals you can't quite toast a marshmallow on. Really, though, the best time for that is a when the fire is hottest, so before the meat, which throws everything out of whack. You know, that was going to be an astute and witty metaphor but I actually can't go anywhere with that. Anyway, This post is beginning to get a little crazy-eyed, so let me just sum up by saying: I didn't get any cake for my birthday*****, and that pissed me off. And I blame that for my current ennui. Wouldn't you?
* so quiet in fact, that people are having time to brew dissent. A plan is being hatched to feng shui the office, and perhaps install a skylight. A report is being written. No actual work is getting done. Just in case you thought it was just me.
**I got a polariser. happy birthday to me! from me!***
***oh yeah it was my birthday on Monday. People have complained that I didn't make a big deal of it. But it was a Monday!!!! who's even awake then?
**** The theme of my week, by the way, has been Please Please Please let me get what I want by The Smiths, which is about as deep and meaningful a revelation as you get. From me.
***** The interngot cake today though. So I guess being a cute, fuzzy intern is more important.
Yesterday, I should have blogged. It should have been a good one, because I had the time. My bosses are out of town and things are quiet in the office*. I even had time to tidy my outbox, so that should excite the Biznatch when she gets back. I made tea, and coffee, and ate all the chocolate-covered-biscuits, took part in the Facebook movie quiz, and am now on 6000 points. I know, I know, you can send congratulations to me on the back of a postcard.
But did I blog? Feck, nay. Bugger did I. I guess I should have taken it as a bad omen that when I went out at lunch to play with my new polariser**. I took some interesting test shot but could I work up any enthusiasm for some sort of creative, interesting, finally- going- to- get- me- back- on- explore nonpareil-wonderment. Or even something that didn't suck boring ba... lemons out of sheer boringness.
Part of the problem is I don't really blog personal stuff. Half of it is...personal****. An the rest- well, people come to me the next day and are all: "so I see you blogged me. We need to chat". My blog is less anonymous than it used to be.
But mostly it's just the dreaded lurgy: not so much writer's block per se as a bad case of the Ehn. Same with Photography: the spark is hissing, the fire is...those little coals you can't quite toast a marshmallow on. Really, though, the best time for that is a when the fire is hottest, so before the meat, which throws everything out of whack. You know, that was going to be an astute and witty metaphor but I actually can't go anywhere with that. Anyway, This post is beginning to get a little crazy-eyed, so let me just sum up by saying: I didn't get any cake for my birthday*****, and that pissed me off. And I blame that for my current ennui. Wouldn't you?
* so quiet in fact, that people are having time to brew dissent. A plan is being hatched to feng shui the office, and perhaps install a skylight. A report is being written. No actual work is getting done. Just in case you thought it was just me.
**I got a polariser. happy birthday to me! from me!***
***oh yeah it was my birthday on Monday. People have complained that I didn't make a big deal of it. But it was a Monday!!!! who's even awake then?
**** The theme of my week, by the way, has been Please Please Please let me get what I want by The Smiths, which is about as deep and meaningful a revelation as you get. From me.
***** The interngot cake today though. So I guess being a cute, fuzzy intern is more important.
posted by Betenoir at 9:21 AM
6 Comments:
but what if you were a philippe starck footstool?
pretty, yes, design-ey, yes, but not able to think of anything all on it's own worth a damn.
so, like a presenter on top billing then. OW!
That is so wrong. At our office WE have to provide cake for everyone else. Not a cheap undertaking when there are sixty-odd (or should that be sixty odd) hungry mouths to feed. Oh, and going on a business trip doesn't let you off the hook, either.
You can pretend you got cake. And it was delicious and you didn't have to share it with anybody. Screw pretending. Go to a cafe near you and get cake ;)
Don't you just hate that - when you're so bored, it's totally impossible to actually do anything? Only something as mindless as playing 'guess the booze label' games will pull me out of that stupor.
Happy birthday for a week ago!
Hang on, this time its real cake we're talking about, right? Not Granny Wrangler's version then?
Being a cute and fuzzy intern may get you cake in the short term. But girl, if you want everyone to remember to get you cake for years after you've resigned, a bitch-slap works wonders.
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