Career schmareer.

I used to be a designer. A pretty good one, too. I worked at some great firms and agencies. I graduated from one of the top schools in the country. I started my own company. People were watching me. Important people. And then... uh.. well, I'm taking a break.

Burn-out: 12 cups of tired. 3 tablespoons of no computer. 14 pounds of divorce. Equal parts anxiety and general unhappiness. Add cheese fries and pizza. Stir for a year. Serves one big fat steaming pile.

I don't know how many of you have experienced burn-out or for how long, but I've got a raging case of it right now. I can't focus on anything. It's taking me for-ev-er to get things done. A few times I thought it was breaking. I was on the way. I was making plans. But then, that particular day ended and I woke up in misery all over again.

For now, aside from the occasional job I really enjoy, I am hiding out in my new profession. It's not bad at all. I get to laugh. I get to socialize. I make money. Granted, not the 6-figure-salary-plus-benefits I was expecting to have at this point, but at least I can pay my rent and buy cat food. That's gotta count for something, right?

I'm really beginning to wonder if I'll ever be truly happy again. More on that in another post.

Where's my damn Smiths album!?

Life sucks and then you die.

Is this true? Does life truly suck? And then.. what, you just die? Is this all there is? Eternal suckitude?

I've always classified myself as a hopeful cynic, which yes, I know is an oxymoron, but how else can I describe this? I am extremely cynical; I know what evils people are capable of, given the opportunity to do so, and yet, the more I learn about people and what they try to get away with truly makes my brain shudder.

A couple of friends and I were talking over drinks (as talking tends to go these days) one recent evening, and one posed the question: "Would you rather have an affair with someone and no one find out, or would you rather not have an affair and be suspected of one by everyone?" Immediately, two of my friends spoke up, "Oh I know." Curious, I kept my mouth shut and listened, even though I had my own answer tucked away. It was interesting to learn of the importance everyone placed on others' opinions. What will people think of me? This is ultimately the underlying question. More on that later.

Things susprise me. In the way that my breath was sucked out of my lungs as I watched Kevin Spacey say to Jack Lemmon in Glengarry Glen Ross: "Because I don't like you." In the way that electronic voting machines are so obviously tampered with and yet only pockets of protests were triggered and of course immediately squashed without much incident. The way our country's administration has managed to ostracize us from the rest of the world without compromise in only a few years. The way people have become so completely preoccupied with material possessions instead of more intelligent and relevant preoccupations, like, say, the fact that we are at war.

Things like this surprise me because I am hopeful. Well, allow me to clarify: I don't expect that people who've become accustomed to greed and selfishness will do a 180 and suddenly realize that their way of life makes everyone else's life suck. But I do believe that people who take the time to step back and consider all the possibilities of life and what effects their actions will have on people and well, everything in both the micro and macro sense, will ultimately begin to make choices that are enlightened and positive for everyone.

Of course, there are problems that seem unsolvable. This is simply false. This is why I am hopeful. Every problem has a solution. We need more creative thinking instead of resorting to blowing stuff up all the time. People have opinions. God is an opinion. You think God exists. I don't. There is just no real proof one way or the other, therefore, it is simply an opinion. Going to war or ruining lives because of an opinion is simply ludicrous. People need to be able to say, "You know what? Maybe I'm not totally correct." And people need to be saying this from all sides and really make an attempt to understand one another.

Does this thinking make me a cynic? Well, the fact that I believe that everything we do as a nation, and I mean everything--from that stupid commercial for Target (Don't Stop Living in the Red!), to our gluttonous consumption and subsequent "obesity epidemic" (Just stop eating, people!!), to the fact that half of us voted for an ass who basically spouts off "my way or the highway"--is driven by an obscene selfishness, certainly makes me one.

But then the hope: I have this imagination, one which sees how things could be. If only. If only people would be willing to admit that their way might not be the best way. If only people would stop obsessing about what other people think. (As in, if I don't get that Hummer, people won't think I'm successful.) If only people would fully consider what their choices would do, as in chess, four or five moves ahead. If only people considered virtue as a valid mode of living. If only. We have the capacity to do this. But right now we are so, so selfish. We are enchanted by Hummers, captivated by celebrity, so bewitched by any chance, in any form, to say, "Look at me! I'm important! Me! Not you!"

When we accept a quiet life, appreciate all the amazing things we have, take nothing for granted and learn to compromise, maybe life won't suck so bad. But this, sadly, will not happen in our lifetimes. No matter how hard Brangelina or George Clooney try to change things. We are doomed. For now at least. We have been sucked into a machine of brand-name retail binging and celebrity-watching. Ah, it pains me to even go on with this. Everything just sucks.

To the question posed by friends: almost everyone at the table agreed (not divulging my own answer to this question and didn't at the time) that it was better to have an affair and never be found out. Because apparently, Opinion has trumped Virtue.

Hello, darkness.

This started out a few days ago as the requisite 9/11 post, but it was so awful, I couldn't continue. There was a volley of "Are you ok?" emails, followed by the "Yes I'm ok, and here's what happened to me" responses.. and I couldn't find my own response to post. And now that I'm thinking of it, I deleted it a few years back. Revisiting that day in any form is a painful experience that only people who've had such trauma would understand. Knowing that I'm living the affected area in the geographical sense brings me a small amount of comfort. I am not alone. No matter how I think I am. I'm not. Lots of people close to me went through something equally unnerving and horrific, and I truly realize the beauty of the adage "misery loves company," even if the original meaning was steeped in cynicism.

The difference between this year and years past is that I am alone. The last years were parades of anguish, lost family, memorials, dinners, occasions for skirt-wearing. This year, having no contact with R, brings a grief I have not truly dealt with since day one. The week leading up to this past 9/11 was an anxious time: every turned corner revealed a banner or sign, "Come honor the victims of 9/11 at such-and-such a time, such-and-such a place." The newspapers and magazines at all the stands were emblazoned with pictures of the buildings, of doomed firemen, of running hoards of people (I still examine these closely to see if I was caught on film anywhere). There was no place I could rest my eyes without feeling that pain of sadness heave its way up to my burning face. So. I wore sunglasses. I kept my head down. And wondered what stage of grief I was going through. Denial? #1. Depression? #4. Anger? No, not quite that.

A friend was kind enough to host a dinner that night to help me through. Pasta, perfectly al dente, in a sauce of sun-dried tomatoes.. and peppers? I think it was peppers. It was good. A bottle of temperanillo later, and we were watching Wild Guitar, eventually some news and finally, bits of discussion. It was all good. It was quiet. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. This is when I realized that I was not a freak alone, living in a cocoon of grief as I had with R.

And now, the day has thankfully passed, and I feel stronger about everything. I am finally on my way to some kind of recovery, in so many ways. Even if my DSL sucks ass and I've been on the phone with them for two days straight.

On an unrelated note, it seems I AM one of those awful, clueless parents who makes their kids fat and doesn't do anything about it. Khan is fat. Everyone who comes over laughs at how fat he is. It's funny, because I look at him and think he's damn cute. Maybe not the fittest cat in the world, but certainly not FAT. Well. He's fat. I know that now. Khan, no matter how much you cry, no matter how cute you are, you are NOT getting anymore late-night snacks!!!