I’m not watching the TV but it certainly feels like it’s watching me. I came here fast, and inadequately prepared - my headphones let the sound of other people’s choices in. Snatches of Dr No and phone conversations and ringtones and the background piercing beeps of watchfulness or alarm.
The other men in this room are older, more settled. They talk in inevitabilities, in the harrumphing recognition of each other’s details. Their illnesses are decay and bitterness and overdosing on time. They don’t look me in the eye. I’m either too transient or too pitiable for them.
I had a dream that made me forget I was divorced and woke up composing an unsendable text: ‘I need you, I hurt’. Instead i talked to family and ate chocolate and tried not to move so my wound didn’t agitate. The absence of pain isn’t comfort, but you can fool yourself for a while if you try hard enough.
I’m laid low, one blanket away from shivering, wrapped and packed, gauze-riddled. My feet ache from pressing against the baseboard but I can’t bend my knees and shift my legs without sending a flare from torn tissue to cortex. The drip in my arm is full of antibodies. I asked the nurse if there was a drip full of anti-body issues, but she just gave me the professional ‘your humour is registering but not working’ smile and turned away. I’d have done the same.
There’s always tomorrow - home, meds, the slow cruise to repair. The IV drip is beeping and it’s the most honest conversation I’ve had all year. It just keeps saying ‘You need help’ and I keep saying ‘I know’.
Had to go to the doctor today about something quite painful and inconvenient, and was in a terrible mood about life in general after little sleep and less comfort. Blah blah, medical stuff, antibiotics, etc - all very dull but profitable in a ‘getting things sorted’ kind of way.
Then I trudged into work, sore and tired, to find I won a workplace competition in which I entered an artwork, and was presented a big bottle of champagne and lots of applause.
I’m starting to feel that despite my mental and physical health issues, the world is getting less tempestuous and more rewarding. It’s nice, this cautious optimism. One could get rather used to it.
"I am figuring out which parts of my personality are mine
and which ones I created to please you."
— The Dust On This Poem Could Choke You/ Lora Mathis lora-mathis (via possibilityofliving)
“Do what you love” disguises the fact that being able to choose a career primarily for personal reward is a privilege, a sign of socioeconomic class. Even if a self-employed graphic designer had parents who could pay for art school and co-sign a lease for a slick Brooklyn apartment, she can bestow DWYL as career advice upon those covetous of her success.
If we believe that working as a Silicon Valley entrepreneur or a museum publicist or a think-tank acolyte is essential to being true to ourselves, what do we believe about the inner lives and hopes of those who clean hotel rooms and stock shelves at big-box stores? The answer is: nothing.
Do what you love, love what you do: An omnipresent mantra that’s bad for work and workers. (via bakcwadrs)
a couple of other quotes from the article i really like:
According to this way of thinking, labor is not something one does for compensation but is an act of love. If profit doesn’t happen to follow, presumably it is because the worker’s passion and determination were insufficient. Its real achievement is making workers believe their labor serves the self and not the marketplace
Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life! Before succumbing to the intoxicating warmth of that promise, it’s critical to ask, “Who, exactly, benefits from making work feel like nonwork?” “Why should workers feel as if they aren’t working when they are?” In masking the very exploitative mechanisms of labor that it fuels, DWYL is, in fact, the most perfect ideological tool of capitalism. If we acknowledged all of our work as work, we could set appropriate limits for it, demanding fair compensation and humane schedules that allow for family and leisure time.
"It is said that your life flashes before your eyes just before you die. That is true, it’s called Life."
— Terry Pratchett (via observando)
"1. Take a quarterly vacation
2. Hold a “retrospective” after projects
3. Write every day
4. Create an “interesting people fund”
5. Keep “tear sheets” to get inspired
6. Nap every day
7. Envision what you will be remembered for
8. Brainstorm at the bar
9. Get out of the building
10. Engage in “morphological synthesis”"
99U culls 10 creative habits you should steal from worthy models like Cheryl Strayed, James Victore, and Ze Frank – details on each at the link.
Pair with the daily routines of famous writers and 99U's field guide to honing your creative routine, then revisit William James on the importance of habit.