It’s past eleven here in Paris, and we are soon going to bed.
Just now I felt my heart sink. I have been writing mails to my friends. I miss them a lot. Exile does something to you. I have friends here as well, but all the closest ones are in other parts of Europe.
Writing mails means telling everyone how you are doing, and I’m doing fine. I have a new job.
People tend to be very enthusiastic when I tell them this, glad on my behalf you know. Normal, they are nice people. I love my friends.
Still, I feel my heart sink. I don’t want to be in that office every day. It’s like a prison (alhough I tell you, I have a very cool job). I want to be something else. I want freedom. I want to make things. I want to live.
Office life = death
Office life = sucks all your passion out of you
Office life = kills creativity
Office life = hierarchy
Office life = corporate, capitalist
Office life = tendonitis
Office life = bad air
Office life = head ache
…and it just goes on and on and on.
Most days I’m able to phase out all desire to create. But it so happens that many of my favorite people are accomplished artists. I say that without any jealousy (don’t feel that kind of thing). They remind me of the things I want to do.
Yesterday I told my boyfriend I might rid myself of all desire to ever do music again. He thought that was a very bad idea. I suppose he’s right.
Tomorrow office again. Lord, help me be brave.