r.e.v.l.u.s.i.o.n.

Another post!

I need to update this blog as much as I tell myself I'm going to update this blog. It's pretty much a daily thing that i go back and forth with and for whatever undisclosed reason I can't. I don't know if it's the newness of it all or if it's me secretly trying to suppress myself. I know there are things that go on during my day-to-day life that I think are just so darn clever that I should blog them, but something stops me before I get the chance. I once told a co-worker that another co-worker was a "perfectly good waste of thick ankles" and that "any other pear-shaped woman would consider herself lucky to have them" in her place. SEE! Is that not screaming blog me? I think it is.

I think that the particular subculture I live and grow thrives on disappointment in some sick and familiar self-involved and necessary way. I'm going to focus on work for the time being because I know more people who are unhappy with their work than I know people. I feel like we are unjustly judged by ourselves and our peers on levels that radically alter exactly who we are and how we relate to one another and ourselves. And I use the term "we" loosely, because I expect it to include anyone who finds that at any given moment of any given time they are like me in any particular way. Different in a way that feels so singular, but is obviously large enough for a subculture to be built from it. Those of us who have sweat it out in tiny basements dancing along to saves the day, or done our time selling merch at some shitty d.i.y. show. Those of us who ALMOST shed a tear when the get up kids broke up (but would totally deny it today, of course) and now find solace in anything acoustic, electric, or overly simplified (read: a girl [without shoes], a guitar [with three strings], and a half-broken amp that hums louder than it transmits; or the infinite intricacies of the fashion world, the importance of an animal pendant, or how a simple pair of leggings can define an entire wardrobe) and now spend our time wishing we were after greater things in life, wearing tiny coats and shiny shoes, skipping cracks and inhaling carcinogens in this gloomy borough of ours. Brooklyn at it's finest and highest/lowest points. It's difficult to define something that is so all-inclusive, but I sure took a stab at it. If you find something else I didn't include, leave me a comment and I'm half sure I'll make amendments.

There are so many times throughout my workday when I wonder why, exactly, I'm still sticking it out at a seemingly dead-end job, merchandising mouse leather purses and plastic argyle sweaters for people who still think Rod Stewart is sexy, sought after, and... alive. I know I'm better than the spring green corduroy pants I shuddered at when I walked into work this morning so why am I still there? I think it's because I know I'm safe underwhelming myself; but I wish it didn't take so long for me to make a move in the right direction. Every time I reach for something the idea of a potential devastation simmers me down, and I go back to my own personal day-to-day-mini-devastation because it's so easy. I need for ease to be a thing of the past and for challenges to seem like they aren't so massive; otherwise I know I'll spend the next few years wholly regretting the last few months. Sometimes I curse the fact that I went to school for an art form, because if I'm not creating something stellar I feel like I'm just pedaling on a stationary bike.

So, what to do? This particular necessary disappointment is wearing out it's welcome and I know that sooner than later I will claw out the eyes of a co-worker, customer, or maybe even myself. And when I ride the subway home and see the lifeless glaze over my eyes echoed back at me from every other Kyle riding the train, I begin to wonder what went wrong with all of us and what our revolutions will be like when we take over our own mini-worlds.

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SO what do I find out as I am typing this post? My boyfriend just got promoted at work. Just now! Reading my blog is the new reality TV. Seriously.