January 23: Dull Assignments, Work, Tedious Fairy Tale

At first, the job in itself, as an illustrator, was not so hard as tedious, [Ives'] hours spent with some rather dull assignments...

Ives is not excited by the job that becomes his career.  He is an ad man.  Working for a New York agency, Ives draws illustrations for products like floor polish.  It isn't fine art, but it pays the bills.  Ives is able to send his kids to school, go on trips to Italy with his family, and buy his wife books and jazz records.  His artistic dreams take a back seat to life's day-to-day necessities.

I understand the sacrifices Ives makes.  Doing work that is tedious and dull.  Uninspiring.  There is nothing glamorous in the work I do for the medical office.  For the majority of the time, I stand at a window, greet patients, and scan medical insurance cards.  For hours.  I try to liven it up with jokes and cartoon and polka music (really, I do), but tedium is a difficult dragon to slay.

I sometimes dream of quitting my jobs and devoting myself completely to my writing.  I know a couple of people who are, literally, full-time poets, supplemented with teaching gigs and grant-funded workshops.  They are not wealthy.  They walk the poverty line every day of their lives.  But they are happy, doing what they love.  Unfortunately, I've had a work ethic instilled in me so strongly that I would shovel manure in order to provide for my family.  Poetry has to take a backseat a lot of the time.

I'm not complaining.  I'm lucky to have the work.  I know this.  Yet, every once in a while (on bad days, every five minutes), I picture myself at home, in my pajamas, scribbling away in my journal to tapping away on a keyboard.  Writing.  Today was one of those bad days.  I was distracted.  Bored.  A little fed-up.  The English Department at the university is interviewing for several positions at the moment.  And I'm not qualified for any of them.  That depresses me a little.

Once upon a time, a man sat down to write a fairy tale based on his life.  He scribbled, "Once upon a time..."  The man sat there for several moments trying to think of something magical or interesting.  He couldn't.  So he typed, "...a man sat down to write a fairy tale based on his life."

Then he sat there again.  And he sat.  And sat.  And sat.  He sat all day and all night.

Eventually, the sun rose, and the man still had no fairy tale.  So, picking up his quill, he scribbled, "And the man lived tediously ever after."  Then the man got dressed and went to his dull job.

And Saint Marty lived tediously ever after.

Make that two...