The devil on my shoulder.
October 21, 2003 11:00 p.m.

(btw on an entirely unrelated side note, the only thing worse than hearing from the Wabash people, is not hearing from them. ...mindFUCKERS!)

The devil on this shoulder is winning out against the devil on the other shoulder
(the following is her entry that kicked me in the ass)

I remind myself every day how lucky I am to have this job. For many many reasons it’s wonderful. And I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Especially because I’ve heard the horse has rabies and I don’t want to spend every other day at the doctor’s getting a shot in my ass. Plus I’ll be the laughing stock of the office—“Hey weren’t you the fucking idiot that looked the gift horse in the mouth? What— are you stupid? Don’t you know that even gift horses have teeth, jackass?”

So no looking the gift horse in the mouth.

But if I thought I was going to work 9-5 for the rest of my life I would stick a fork in my eyeball, pull my eyeball out of my skull and eat it, and then I’d skull fuck myself with the fork.

Seriously.

I am growing less and less satisfied with some of the more complacent choices I’ve made. Especially when I look at all the people I consider my heroes—David Cross, John Lennon, Lou Barlow, Abby Hoffman, Lou Reed, Lester Bangs, Rimbaud—all of whom follow(ed) their creative impulses with great conviction and did not settle for a nice fucking flat in the suburbs and a steady paycheck. I am tired of smiling at people. I’m tired of discussing things I don’t care about, like how many brochures reached how many addresses and whether we should send schedules today or tomorrow. You know what’s fucking ludicrous is when you sit around with people who work together and listen to them talk about their jobs. Don’t you just wanna fucking punch them in the face because unless their job is 1)writing for the greatest comedy show of all time 2)finding the cure for cancer or 3) licking pussy, it’s fucking BORING. YOUR JOB IS BORING. And the fact that you would even choose to spend five minutes talking about it during your free time means that you are fucking boring.

Well today was just crazy! You would not BELIEVE what happened. First of all, the Vice President of Rugmunching said I couldn’t use the fax machine! And then I had to type a report! And then I had green beans for lunch! And then there was a problem with the xerox machine! Then someone left a message on my voicemail! Then I called my voicemail! Wow! It was just too much to handle!!!!

People sell their souls so easily, you know? I mean they just roll over spread their cheeks and have the souls sucked right out of their assholes. It’s heart breaking. Don’t get me wrong—I think it’s great if your goal is to be a lawyer or a teacher or whatever. That’s awesome. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about creative people who just willingly become office drones because they simply don’t care enough to do anything else.

And once you do it, it is so hard to get out of it. Because it’s safe and comfortable. And because after enough time, your antiauthoritarian muscles begin to atrophy. You aren’t going to come up with new creative ideas sitting in the same fucking office every day. You aren’t going to be awakened to some new political philosophy or artistic yearning. These things only happen when you are out doing something. And I don’t mean the fucking weekend when you’re just so glad to not be at work that going to a rock show seeing somebody else be creative, or reading a book in bed that contains someone else’s imaginings makes you feel like you’re actually not just this inert waste of space.

Oftener and oftener lately I feel like such a sellout because I know what I should be doing. I am so aware of it. The fact that I am doing as well as I am acting and singing wise putting in about an iota and a half’s worth of effort into it says that if I actually really devoted myself to something I could be on the right track.

Thing is, I want to do something really fucking quality. I want to be involved in something that is thought provoking and pushes the envelope. I don’t know whether that would be music wise or theatre wise or both. But I want to have the kind of career that is had by the people I admire. I don’t really care abut being a “success”—I’d just like to make enough money doing something I love, something that matters, so that I could have basically the same lifestyle I have now. I want to be so excited about what I’m doing that I relish spending 14 hours a day on it—that’s how I felt about Cabaret. That’s how I feel about acting class. That’s how I feel when Angus and I start riffing off sketch and script ideas.

...

I have a very strong sense that the next two years are going to be pivotal for me. I’m either going to jump out of this skin and start storming the world or… or something else that’s no good. But I have a sense of purpose. And I can’t ignore my conscience any longer. I don’t have any sand left to bury my head in.