magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

When I'm not working I hate the idea of going back to work. Work seems like this loathsome thing that I'm somehow beholden to do but I would be so much better off if I could just find some way to avoid for the rest of my life. At the same time, when I'm not working I tend to spend too much time thinking, not enough time sleeping, and am just generally in a bad mood.

When I am working, when I've got something that is keeping me busy, I am so much happier. (Not to mention the fact that I've got less to worry about every month as due dates approach for rent and credit card bills and student loans and utilities.)

I worked a good, solid, full day today, and at no point did I wish I was somewhere else. Would I like to get paid for making art all day instead of corporate graphics? Sure. But this isn't bad for right now. And right now I'm not sure I have the self-discipline and commitment necessary to focus on art anyway.

---

While at lunch, two voice messages and two text messages.

Chris, faux-ornery. Anyone who's ever had him leave a message for them, or has overheard him leaving a message for anyone else, knows what I'm talking about.

Called him back. 'I haven't moved my bed yet, so I'm still in Brooklyn. Tomorrow might be our last chance for a convenient Life Cafe brunch.' But he had promised Becky a trip to the Guggenheim tomorrow. If he spent the night at her place in Queens it wouldn't really be feasible to come all the way back to Brooklyn for brunch, then go back into Manhattan to meet her at the museum. I took it personally, but I'll get over it.

Chris.W, about the project I'm working on.

Aaron, asking for my new address.

Stef, 'I'd think you were dead if it weren't for your website. No word from you. Couldn't you send me an email? At least?'

'I'm sorry. I'm not dead. I'll call soon.' The truth of the matter is that I've hardly looked at my phone once this past week without thinking about calling her. And It feels like that is what I should do. That email is not enough.

---

Two glasses of wine downstairs. Everyone else was jumping the gun to get out of the office early on Friday, and while I still had work to do I didn't want to be totally left behind.

Back upstairs for an hour or so. That kind of foggy you get after two drinks and no dinner, but still sober enough to get done what I needed to get done.

I met back up with people later at a pool hall in Chelsea. A couple of beers. A couple games of pool.

More phone calls. More text messages.

Marie and Dan, watching downloaded episodes of a TV show that I got them hooked on. Would I be home? Did I want to watch it?

My mom, a question about Old English typefaces.

Er!n, saying hi.

A pizza place where there was nothing I could eat. Talk about work. Freelance vs staff positions and getting enough hours to pay the bills. And then it was still early, but people were headed off in their own separate directions.

---

Brooklyn. A book. In bed before midnight.