I write this as I sit in the parking lot waiting to walk inside to quit my job. I want to remember the disdain my subconscious has for this place. It has become my personal prison; ironically, the very subject of most of my own work.
This place drains me of the creative freedom I once experienced on a daily basis. Instead of finding the daily projects and questions an escape from my own worldly issues, I’ve found it drives me further away from the place I need to be.
I need to be focusing and creating and experimenting and instead all I’ve been doing is routine and it drives me fucking crazy. The thoughts I’ve had over the last week shock me.
I have thought of more ways to insert Popsicle sticks into people’s bodies than I ever thought possible. What type of stretcher bars would be most appropriate to bludgeon someone with, the kinds of brushes that would do the most harm if I stabbed someone in the eyes. I’ve thought of throwing turpentine on people and whacking them repeatedly with oil pastels and paint tubes. And then comes the creative ways I’ve thought I could have myself fired.
I’ve dreamt of streaking mid shift down the middle of the aisles as if nothing was wrong, I could pee In front of a customer, I could take the money out of the registers and throw it in the air yelling “free money free paint!” I could just knock everything off the shelves or intricately carve out “fuck you” with the pieces of balsa wood we have for sale. The xacto aisle is dangerous, there are so many little triangles and blades. I’ve thought of just flooding the backroom or even setting people’s hair on fire.
I am so angry that I have to spend my days inside, aching now that I have RA. I spend more money on food than I ever have in my life because I can’t eat anything close by and whole foods is expensive and yet my only option. I’m rushing around on others people’s time schedules and hating myself.
I can’t tell anyone I love my boyfriend because he’s my manager and also the most wonderful human being. It would be my luck that I go and meet the dream guy but have to lie about it for months.
I am psychologically and physically drained and I hate myself and everyone around me and it needs to stop. So I’m going in to give my two weeks and that’ll be the end of that blip in the road. Like sand slipping through my fingers, I watch as one door closes and another opens; aka my freedom.