2 September 2010

cellosong: (aaaaaaaaahhhh!)
Is what Kelsey called it today. Honestly I kind of agree. We sort of gravitate to these small businesses that desperately need help whether it's because they fail to advertise, or they fail to organize, or something or other else. And by continually I mean twice, but it feels like continually.

I'm really stressed out about it, I just realized. It's an insane weight on me to be put in the place where I'm worried about keeping a business alive instead of just working there. Sometimes I think I'd love the corporate grind for a while just because it's mind numbingly safe. Answer phones, take notes, do my job, do it well, go home, and think about maybe going out to party or shoot some pool sometimes. Play some D&D--but right now, I just can't let myself relax, because I know if I do, we'll go down the drain.

I sound kind of prideful and full of myself there, I know... but it's how it feels.

I'm really glad beyond words that Kelsey is working there with me. Together we're able to achieve so much more than I could do alone. We've done so much re-organizing, re-stocking, finding old stock and putting it out, coming up with new ideas for things to sell, working out events and advertising that James just doesn't have time to deal with, especially because of the Lorenzo-stuck-in-Italy fiasco.

Which is a fiasco.

Sigh. Oh well.
cellosong: (sigh)
Secretly, I am one hundred razor shards waiting
to fly violently away from the pure, harsh tone
that is the center of my soul. I am one hundred
silent fingers scrabbling at stones, panting
scratch-grooves to tell the airless story they are
living, each afraid of the dark, afraid of the
space, afraid that they will be the last
marker, that turning to their ninety-nine brothers
will yield nothing but the relentless pure tone
and the shattering of glass.


---


I feel like I'm in a place where I have nothing to contribute but vitriol. Biting, nasty, cruel, sarcastic; any moment equidistant from flying into a rage, a panic, a crushing and angry destructive mess. Its fingers are in my shoulders in every muscle, my head is spinning with it--I feel out of control.

Time for a bath in the dark, I think.

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cellosong

January 2011

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