She's a messer

I can spout off a quadra billion kazillion reasons for why I won't stay in this job for the rest of my life. The foremost being that I do not lead the organized life mandated for a successful secretary.

I do enjoy typing, but mostly on this blog, and not so much on contracts.

Filing makes me feel like a miserable failure, which is brushed off as I announce to the office quite melodramatically, "Here I am, living up to my potential," and feeling very trapped like the ironic statement might actually be jinxing me out of a freer future.

I am at the bottom of the totem pole, where all the crap lands. My greatest joy is deflecting solicitation calls with great prowess.

All of this discontent is often unloaded in a big, ugly, muddy heap on the floor when I get home. I might turn some music on, open a can of paint and work on the house, or on a particularly stressful day I will ignore the disorganized mess called my studio and focus on the disorganized mess called my soul, at which point I can gloriously make and make and make stuff. And make stuff. And maybe even some more stuff.

All of this disorganization and the proclivity to make messes in order to make stuff is, I think, from the prophesy of my parents during my childhood, who often and lovingly declared, "Renee, you're a messer."
I have my own declarations:
Make art for myself again, the work that interests me (taking cue from I.R. as noted yesterday).
Create feasible goals and time parameters.
Prioritize, organize, and the other -ize I need to do in my studio for myself
And to eat healthy and maintain that mind body connection that is so important.

If you click on the images they will take you to the full size on flickr. Feel free to print out the chart for yourself and use it. I apologize for the poor image quality, all I have to work on graphics here at work is Paint, which is low-res poo.