Tying My Shoes

Tonight, watched The Triplets of Belleville with my housemates. Had an odd sensation my very skin cells were soaking up the art, color, and creativity, that my pores were starving. I am worried about myself. My work is flattening me. I can't remember the last time I really laughed. Just busted out laughing. Maybe, I'm the wrong kind of person for my work. I care too much. I'm terrible at all the computer aspects--oh, maybe not terrible, but challenged. And I know it. My co-workers know it. What I am I think is a teller of stories. Instead the stories I hear are taking over my stories. I was a good writer, professional writer. In my adult career, what I was best at, though, was as a demonstrator of toys. I intended to work in the Pike Place Market in a hands-on kite and toy store for the summer. I stayed for three years. All day long, playing, I watched people shed their adult skins and emerge as children. I made little money, had no benefits, and could hardly wait to get to work in the morning. In her book, Exuberance, Kay Redfield Jamison wrote about a scientist who hated to tie his shoes in the morning because tying his shoes slowed him down and he yearned to get to work. The work he loved. I want that, to feel that way about tying my shoes.