That Other Life

If you let them, some things die. Hopefully not this blog.


Edward Hopper Office at Night, 1940. Oil on Canvas

I’m two weeks into my new job as executive assistant and already experiencing doubts as to whether I’m “cut out” for it. Or any job. As a student (a time of my life which seems paradoxically distant yet recent), I had sat, curled on my bed one afternoon and read this book. In it she writes something along the lines of, “I became a writer because I couldn’t do anything else. No really. I was unemployable.” I had laughed then, wondering if I’d feel the same way once graduation came and went. And it did. That damn day crept up on me like the Lochness monster (by most accounts, the Lochness monster is quite stealthy) and before I knew it my mental bones had been ground and spat out onto the asphalt of the road I’m standing on now. I had to pick up the pieces and rebuild it to withstand the pressures of the real world. All I can say is, an architect I am not. I did so poorly. Very, very poorly.

*I will likely be reusing this painting in future posts.

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