Monday, October 1, 2007

Forced Creativity

This weekend, as I was getting more and more angry at the thought that I had to come to work on Monday to the evil job from hell because my bosses have become giant flaming assholes of evil that I want to stab several times and spit in the gaping wounds, I thought to myself that perhaps I need to put more energy into the creative side of myself in order to release some of that pent up energy. And anger. Crap loads of anger.

I always used to think of myself as a creative soul. I headed off to theatre school with my handmade sweaters, sketch book and journal ready to take on the world one creative act at a time. But as of late, I find I define myself less as a creative soul and more as...well...just me. I don't think its a BAD thing-I find people are WAY TOO hampered by their definitions of themselves. My coworker has decided that she is a warm person and very empathetic, and because I am not like her, I am by extension NOT warm OR empathetic (which is of course horse poop. I am warm and empathetic. I just don't cry at the drop of a hat. Maybe at the drop of a REALLY nice pair of shoes, but certainly not a hat).

I think however I need to work on fostering that creative side more-whatever that may be. I am losing myself in my work and in reality television, and that's just not right. The problem is it takes work, and I am REALLY BAD at motivating myself. I LOVE motivating other people (you there! Lunchy! GET PUBLISHING! The Georgia Straight is ONLY the beginning!).

There is also the problem of DEFINING creativity. Many people think of creativity of being artistic in nature, but that isn't necessarily true. In one of my past jobs, I worked at a biotechnology company, and let me tell you, those scientists were pretty darned creative. No only with what they wore (seriously-the whole "scientists are badly dressed geeks" thing is pretty well spot on. Yes, some were quite fashionable, but some...well...lets just say REALLY tiny jean shorts on a 45 year old Russian engineer and leave it at that). So if I am creative in the WAY that I work, does that suffice? No...not so much.

And then there is the problem that I have the ability to focus on one task of a hyperactive 3 year old. Sure, its all well and good for me to sit down and write that one woman show in which I showcase by BRILLIANT comedic skills, mad tap dancing chops and singing voice of an angel, but guaranteed I will be distracted by a shiny thing. Or Beauty and the Geek. Or breathing.

Sigh...WAY to deep for a Monday morning. I should be busy drinking coffee and catching up on all the Hollywood gossip that I missed out on over the weekend.
Like Pamela Anderson's impending wedding. To Rick Solomon, the star of Paris Hilton's sex tape. Oh Pam, Pam, Pam. I love you, your fantastically fake breasts, your commitment to your causes, and the fact that you KNOW you are a cheesy, fake blonde bimbo (AND proud Canadian), but have GOT to start marrying a better class of men.

And that, dear reader, is Monday's set of random ramblings. Tune in later for my observations on people napping ON MY CAR at 3 in the afternoon on a Friday. really happened...

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