To Cure A Weakling

My boss is on vacation for the next month. Outside of supporting the sales staff downstairs by taking photographs and periodically updating our web site, I have nothing to work on. No projects. No responsibilities. Our next exhibition 3 months away, our advertising budget slashed (hence my lack of print work), my immediate supervisors nowhere to be found, I find myself staring at this huge screen, wondering what to do.

Common sense tells me, hey, why don't you finish your photography update? Why don't you finish the outline to your script? Why don't you convert your grad school films to digital and compress them into little Quicktime shorts for youtube? Why don't you read your favorite short story, Pacazo, by Roy Kesey, immersing yourself in the tight prose, hoping that the beautiful lyricism will rub off in some magical way?

There needs to be some kind of routine here, a disciplined, efficient approach to the craft of writing, one that will lead to both a renaissance of inspiration and will also provide some clarity to my existential paralysis. And it must happen soon. And when I say soon, I mean right this very minute.

(*Turns up Aphex Twin.)

Cover me. I'm going in.