When is it time to bow out? When is the curtain closing? Has the fat lady sung?
I feel like I've been ramming my head into a wall. Repeatedly. For months now. Have I hit my head hard enough? Is the velocity correct? How can I better connect my head with the wall?
No suggestion. No real answer.
I thought my ramming was sufficient. And it was. Or is. If I only want to ram my head against this wall. This, the bottom rung of whatever ladder we climb in earnest.
In stupidity.
In desperation.
In hunger.
But I won't be satiated. Not with this rate of banging. You should bang longer. Ask for more banging. Take the initiative to bang.
Fuck this.
I don't want to bang my head against a wall. I do not find completeness. Or happiness. Or satisfaction.
I know what I want to do. It isn't this. I've told you.
So you ask again.
And I say again.
Give me creative.
Should I say it louder?
Give me design.
Give me colors and templates and fonts galore.
Give my kerning and leading and transparency.
Symbols. Glyphs. Photography. Alignment. Revising. Rewriting. Concepting. Reviewing. Proofing. Collecting.
All of it. I'll be a sponge. I'll be a star. A workaholic, if you can't see that I already am. Just not for this work.
This banging I'm doing now.
I hate it. No, I'm not happy but I'll say it, obviously. I like eating and paying my mortgage monthly
