It was somewhere around 95'F today, and it got up to 90'F in my apartment because my window-box is on the fritz again. (it was probably better for my monthly electric bill anyway.) Anyhow, I spent most of the day doing late-summer cleaning and then reading a book from start to end. Right now my enthusiasm to do anything (including drawing) is at an all-time low. Having a down month. The reason is work, I won't lie. Me, like 80% of the staff there, are basically at this point with (mis)management:
It reached a point where a few days I ran out of the back of the building, throwing every conceivable thing I could find to throw in whatever direction it went and had one of those epic crying fits where you're both trying to cover it up and just let it happen, the kind where your chest feels tight and your whole body shakes and you look like you're having an epileptic fit. We're talking 300-this-is-spartaaaaaa level epic anger here.
It used to be fun, and working in a bookstore was always a dream-job of mine. I do comics, I do art, I do new age and history and all of the things I love. I surround myself in knowledge all day long and get a discount on it to boot.
But all good things must come to an end. It's not the people I don't like, its the fact that the levels of management that have the most direct control of the store aren't doing their jobs. At all. We're talking at a scale of practically just coming into work to look over the schedule and then walk around and chit-chat for 7 hours. I'm getting underpaid to do a job that is not beneath me, but is treated with the same sort of seriousness as an OSHA inspector. I am expendable, and I am done acting like the parade of managerial missteps is either cute or acceptable.
What this means:
I have to get my website back up. I have to arrange a formal portfolio. I have to start putting myself into the game this time. I had fun with retail while it lasted, but I am thouroughly done with the shuck-and-jive I do for entitled white suburban women and their broods, local angry art chauvinists, and a management team that has a list 80 pages long of people looking for my position that they would happily swap me out for.
So, imma' start planning shit out again. and I'm scared, and I'm excited, and i'm feeling a little vulnerable, but It's not so much a end as a new beginning. I don't plan on moving (unless I get some fantastic offer that's willing to pay moving expenses, but the chance of that happening is (im guessing) < .5%), which means I'll still be near friends and my little bro.
Anyway, here's some 'art' since i keep promising it and never deliver.
It reached a point where a few days I ran out of the back of the building, throwing every conceivable thing I could find to throw in whatever direction it went and had one of those epic crying fits where you're both trying to cover it up and just let it happen, the kind where your chest feels tight and your whole body shakes and you look like you're having an epileptic fit. We're talking 300-this-is-spartaaaaaa level epic anger here.
It used to be fun, and working in a bookstore was always a dream-job of mine. I do comics, I do art, I do new age and history and all of the things I love. I surround myself in knowledge all day long and get a discount on it to boot.
But all good things must come to an end. It's not the people I don't like, its the fact that the levels of management that have the most direct control of the store aren't doing their jobs. At all. We're talking at a scale of practically just coming into work to look over the schedule and then walk around and chit-chat for 7 hours. I'm getting underpaid to do a job that is not beneath me, but is treated with the same sort of seriousness as an OSHA inspector. I am expendable, and I am done acting like the parade of managerial missteps is either cute or acceptable.
What this means:
I have to get my website back up. I have to arrange a formal portfolio. I have to start putting myself into the game this time. I had fun with retail while it lasted, but I am thouroughly done with the shuck-and-jive I do for entitled white suburban women and their broods, local angry art chauvinists, and a management team that has a list 80 pages long of people looking for my position that they would happily swap me out for.
So, imma' start planning shit out again. and I'm scared, and I'm excited, and i'm feeling a little vulnerable, but It's not so much a end as a new beginning. I don't plan on moving (unless I get some fantastic offer that's willing to pay moving expenses, but the chance of that happening is (im guessing) < .5%), which means I'll still be near friends and my little bro.
Anyway, here's some 'art' since i keep promising it and never deliver.
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