Sometimes I think my key problem is living in a poorly chosen genre. I've dealt with this assumption before and reading things lately, I am faced with it again. (Seneca. Long story. Another failed stoic.) You know how some people want their lives to be a pink shaded romantic comedy and it's actually a depressing Ohio suburbs low-budget housewife drama?
Everything is a matter of perception. Everything. I get so desperately lonely sometimes. I'm not talking about my love life - my love life is frightfully perfect. But my life in general is set up like it's a perky, silly, cynical adventure tale of, dunno, Capt. Mal Reynolds, whereas living it can feel like a really really bad soap. Like an incredibly watered down and poorly translated Anna Karenina. Which at times makes me incredibly tired. And as result, I get so terribly sad.
In theory, one must always aim to breach the limits of a safe zone, and evolve. Being a team player for me is one of such things. I've never had friends and hated team playing. It's not my thing. I like company in general, especially peers, but that's mostly because I am very fond of stories and people can be very interesting. Also, sometimes, they have different opinions and that bitch-slaps the perspective back where one was clearly lacking.
In theory, I could have great photo shoots. I used to. I would choose a model, choose the concept, improvise and enjoy creating light and magic out of it. That's the part I already knew how to do. Now I am supposed to tell other people how to do the styling and makeup and hope they can keep up. And models are even more lost than me. There is too much of everything. Everybody is trying to put their part into it, until in the end it's an inedible cake. All that matters in the end is the photo. If only people believed me when I tell them I am the photographer.
It was nice when it was just me and my work. Now I am too tired to draw a fucking dress design, because halfway through, I just get to thinking - why the fuck do I bother? It won't be used or liked or appreciated anyway. Why don't I just try to pay my rent instead? Be one of the normal people? ...
Enter the facepalm.
Well - all that, all this - this would make for an excellent perky, silly, cynical adventure. There is so much creativity, drama, tempo, characters and potential (oh, and sex, there is so much sex and romance, never look down on that) here, this would be a craaazy adventure story.
So shift the fucking genres, bitch. Winter is coming! ... If you think Ned Stark had issues - neither your flat nor your car have heating. Your diplomacy skills are at the all time low. You have nightmares about people taking away your cat just to see you squirm and suffer some more. What does that tell you? If nightmares about people threatening your pussy are not a final alert, I don't know what is.
Everything is a matter of perception. Everything. I get so desperately lonely sometimes. I'm not talking about my love life - my love life is frightfully perfect. But my life in general is set up like it's a perky, silly, cynical adventure tale of, dunno, Capt. Mal Reynolds, whereas living it can feel like a really really bad soap. Like an incredibly watered down and poorly translated Anna Karenina. Which at times makes me incredibly tired. And as result, I get so terribly sad.
In theory, one must always aim to breach the limits of a safe zone, and evolve. Being a team player for me is one of such things. I've never had friends and hated team playing. It's not my thing. I like company in general, especially peers, but that's mostly because I am very fond of stories and people can be very interesting. Also, sometimes, they have different opinions and that bitch-slaps the perspective back where one was clearly lacking.
In theory, I could have great photo shoots. I used to. I would choose a model, choose the concept, improvise and enjoy creating light and magic out of it. That's the part I already knew how to do. Now I am supposed to tell other people how to do the styling and makeup and hope they can keep up. And models are even more lost than me. There is too much of everything. Everybody is trying to put their part into it, until in the end it's an inedible cake. All that matters in the end is the photo. If only people believed me when I tell them I am the photographer.
It was nice when it was just me and my work. Now I am too tired to draw a fucking dress design, because halfway through, I just get to thinking - why the fuck do I bother? It won't be used or liked or appreciated anyway. Why don't I just try to pay my rent instead? Be one of the normal people? ...
Enter the facepalm.
Well - all that, all this - this would make for an excellent perky, silly, cynical adventure. There is so much creativity, drama, tempo, characters and potential (oh, and sex, there is so much sex and romance, never look down on that) here, this would be a craaazy adventure story.
So shift the fucking genres, bitch. Winter is coming! ... If you think Ned Stark had issues - neither your flat nor your car have heating. Your diplomacy skills are at the all time low. You have nightmares about people taking away your cat just to see you squirm and suffer some more. What does that tell you? If nightmares about people threatening your pussy are not a final alert, I don't know what is.
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