It’s been a hot second since I’ve even attempted to draft anything for this online medium I am calling a blog. What the fuck is a blog anyway? Ugh, a glorified journal of megalomania, perhaps?
I’m sitting on the 6th floor of 628 Broadway at Johannes Leonardo, a PR firm in NoHo, which has employed a few temp employees to sit in their beautiful office and look busy for potential clients coming in to view the space as their more permanent staff are out on a job in Japan. Ahh, sometimes the frivolity of the creative industry and New York cannot be balked at, especially when one is getting paid to work on work from their other job. Which is not so much as true because I am not really working on anything anymore. I’m merely siting here typing away and glancing at the real employees here breaking into some 3:00 sushi. WTF. I’m creative, why the hell do I not work here? I love sushi! Oh, he’s cute. ADHD.
As of late I have become utterly disenchanted with my current real estate firm and their actions towards me, thus I have enlisted three staffing agencies to provide me temporary and permanent work solutions. Which is providing to be too much after a brief silence on all accounts. I’ve had 4 or 5 interviews over the past few weeks, been passed up by Burberry’s corporate office for an internal client, submitted to Lane Bryant, and had a few second interviews with some heavy hitting property management firms. All in all I’m pretty butt hurt about Burberry, still. And maybe about Vornado Realty Trust as their office over looking Central Park was pretty damn phenomenal.
Either way I’ve now found myself over extended in my commitments. After a few weeks of nothing I am now having conflicts involving potential temp work (one job for a week or two) vs. permanent employ as interviews are clashing with newfound temp work rigidity. How the hell am I to explain to my temp boss that I must miss work to go on a real job interview? Oh, the conundrums I put myself through.
I mean I shouldn’t be complaining. Today while on the train commuting downtown I began to ask myself why my blessings are perceptibly served with continuous sides of sugar and salt. In point, I was in a rush to go pick up a check from the office in hopes of facilitating my metro card and bam around Times Square I got the notion to get the fuck off the train because I had that ‘oh shit, I’m gonna shit my pants’ feeling. This is already after having numerous temp offers and emails/phone calls over the morning (sugar) followed by gashing open my index finger’s knuckle with nothing to sop up the blood but an orange peel from the orange I was eating (salt), to leaving 145th St early (sugar) then having the MTA kiosk eat my $10 bill at a machine with no receipts (so long $, SALT) to then having to hop off the train to find a place to shit in Times Sq (salt), to an MTA agent alerting me to a bathroom in the TSQ station (WTF, SUGAR). Get where I’m going with this?
Because on this day and nearly every other day of my typical existence I receive similar helpings of salt and sugar one after the other, ad nauseum and when I step back (just now) and add perspective to those taste profiles of yay and nay I realize, that if it were seemingly all salt or all sugar all the time I’d be in a position worse off. Maybe it is a blessing to take a day with a lot of good and bad for a balance versus a day with all bad or all good. I mean then what kind of jaded New Yorker would I be with a mouth full of absolutes.