Ah yes, it's been a while

I thought I could keep up this blog and write in it every night. But, as one can see, life has blocked my path of articulation and has hindered me from sharing my most deepest darkest dampest secrets...well, maybe those secrets aren’t that damp. I just got back from having the routine post-undergraduate dinner with seven associates from USC. All of us were art majors, some business minors. After a few hello's and how are you's, the number one topic of conversation tended to be "what job did you get?" and "how much money are you making?" What? And I played victim to this concern as well. No questions as to what art's been made, or what books one has been reading, or what future creative plans one has for oneself, were asked, but only monetary social status and vocational rhetoric. Some political views crept their way into the conversations, but mostly we all just sat around the dinner table talking about how much we either loved or hated our jobs. The first round of drinks was toasted towards something I could not associate with. I was ostracized from the joyous clinging of glasses for not being single. The two people at the table who had been in steady relationships while we were in school, which constituted three years of more, were now happily strong and single. A few of my associates wanted to know why I looked so normal that night. I had been wearing a plaid shirt and khaki pants, a unusual style compared to the skirt wearing, dyed hair having, ragged paint splattered shirts I use to sport all throughout my college career. My only answer was a truthful one: this is what I wore to work. Ah yes, work. That word seemed to steal the spotlight of conversation once again. As a precursor to tonight's dinner, I had an hour long conversation with Brandon about how I loathed my job, how lethargic it made me feel, and how my mind mashed around my head like a stew of rotten vegetables from sitting in a chair eight hours a day staring at forty television monitors. How, when I got home from work I am always too tired to produce anything important. I told Brandon that I wanted to quit my job and work on my art full time. There was no way I could get into grad school if I couldn't even remember how to paint, if I didn’t have the time to remember...ugh. Well, this is my rant for tonight. Work sucks. Post Undergraduate school sucks. Being tired sucks. And above all, pretending to enjoy your friends' company whilst bloviating about work, well that sucks most of all.