What do you listen to when you do art? Right now, I have myself some Hong Kong Beach Waves for the next 9 hours.
I have no intention of writing that long. It’s Friday night and as much fun as this is, I’d rather do something else. But what I have noticed is that I only seem to used the left shift button and never the right? Why is that? Is that why my goddamned left arm hurts so much? Is it overuse? Should I start to use that right shift just a little bit more? Maybe it would lead to me using my right hand more often for those tiny tasks… the ones that use the small motor skills? But I write on paper with my right hand. Although, it’s usually just some chicken scratch, because who the hell even writes on paper anymore? If you’re doing long, freeform writing and you’re doing it on paper, you’re killing yourself. Holy shit, my hand just cramped thinking about it. Then again, maybe that’s why things hurt? Maybe it’s atrophy? But everything else I do is with my right hand.
Friday’s are fun. What is it? What is the stigma of a Friday vs a Monday? How do we break it? How do we start to see Mondays as a huge day to be just the same as a Friday? Are we day-ists? Week-ists? Weekend-ists? Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaan, call me by my new pronoun PUPPYSHIT.
I’ve once again, on a Friday night, indulged in the dark arts of “the edible” and the other gray-area arts of “the cocktail.” Therefor, once everything kicks in I’ll call it quits and move on with my life. Or rather, move on with my Friday night.
Now, I do want to hit on something. Whilst (like that? sexy, right?) working with someone earlier, I watched their mood elevate. It was all about exercise and learning, but man oh man, did they come in with a sour puss on their face. Everything was about wanting more and not being grateful for what they have, acting as if life should reward them with something for their hard work. And yes, this person works hard as a starving 1-armed monkey grabbing a greased up banana hooked up to an electric fence while another monkey’s grabbing his ass.
But the universe owes us nothing. The universe doesn’t give a fuuuuuuck how hard you work. It’s quite sad and really frustrating… but true.
If the universe wants to reward us, it will. My cries of being entitled to something nice, some good luck, some cool material goods will always go unheard. By the universe, anyways. The people around me will probably tell me it’s time to “Shut the fuck up.”
All we can do is grind it out with a smile on our faces. More intelligent people than I have said it before, something along the lines of “fall in love with the grind.” Sorry, let me refresh my bevvy and come back with a fresh perspective. Hopefully the edible doesn’t peel my mind away…
Considering he owed the mob his career and tons of money, did Frank Sinatra reeeeeeeally do it his way?
Show up daily, ready to work. Skip a day and you pay. Lay down by the bay and eat a bunch of hay. I just may!
Be more grateful. Seriously. Place blame on yourself and accept it. Instead of pointing fingers out, look in the mirror first. Do we blame the economy for losing tons of money? No, you should look in the mirror and call yourself out on not playing your cards right.
Every day we’re dealt a hand and it could be the same one as yesterday or slightly different, but it’s how we play it that will decide the outcome. Sure, sometimes you fold. Sometimes you bluff. Sometimes you have the best possible hand but still don’t win.
You can’t control what happens to you all the time, but you can ALWAYS control how you react to it. You can always do your best to brighten up the spirits of people around you. Yes, we all need a shoulder to lay our head upon from time to time, but we should always work to bring people up. If you’re feeling awful and you brighten someone’s day just by smiling and being their light… doesn’t that cheer you up a little bit? Maybe? If not, you’re the asshole.
Frank Sinatra was controlled by the mob, but we never heard him bitch about it. He sang about it. He put it in his art. Save your sob story and draw it. Quit dragging us down with your bullshit. We all have a story and unless you can illustrate it, no one caaaaaaaares.
I heard once, that if everyone around you is an asshole, who do you think is really the asshole.
To wrap this up, once this person got a great workout and I brightened up their spirits, along with the endorphins from their hard work. At the end of it all, they were a different person. They remained to be a little bit of a smartass, but hey, I’ll take a smartass over a toxic, miserable prick. You can have all the money and things in the world, but it won’t make you happy. It’ll only eliminate money problems. A rich spade is still a spade. A rich asshole is still an asshole, but now it’s just exacerbated by his or her wealth.
PS – I switched to Frank Sinatra music AFTER I wrote about him. No idea where the inspiration came from, but man, what a G.