Coming Around

Sundays. I have never had an affinity towards Sundays. Maybe it's a forced Catholic thing, or because as a kid, and now out in the working field, you know it's your last day of freedom. When I worked regular wage jobs, I enjoyed working Sundays. I didn't like being home. Nothing was ever on television - not like anything good is on now - and the day itself just seems too quiet. It is the day God supposedly rested after all. The whole thing just seems eerie.

Been sitting here, workng on an art project, a photo reference piece which is coming out as my best ever, but I still hate the fingers and the face, which in turn makes me hate the whole thing. It's all good, or none of it is good.

Sometimes I find that I push myself too hard, so much that I always end up nowhere, staying in the same place. It's like running on a treadmill, only instead of sweat, it's frustration pouring out of me.

I applied for a freelance gig at the local newspaper, one which I can find at least two misspelled words in the damn headlines every week. It's a piece of shit paper, and a disgrace to journalism anywhere. I keep saying that I want to work there to gain experience, but really, I yearn to tear that place apart from the inside out; get some real writers in there, and editors that actually read the news pieces before sending them to print.

Shoot me, stab me, kill me, just don't fuck with the words that I love.