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an attempt to rid himself of this penetrating nostalgia, James
stands up from his chair, puts a new filter of fresh grounds into
his drip coffee maker, activates it, and begins to pace in his
studio. He listens to the sound of his shoe soles stomping on the
wooden floor. He glances at his half complete clay sculptures surrounding
the room. Through listening and looking, James allows sensations
to enter him. He hopes to rinse the palette of his mind. But his
mind disobeys. It once again screens the same dreadful film. As
he paces, scenes from his recent destruction of his organized life
persist. James walks into the bedroom and replaces the pair of clay-stained jeans he is wearing with a pair of gray slacks. He removes his dirty shirt and remains in a white Hanes undershirt. He pours himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee and sits at his make-believe corporate desk. It has been one year since James quit his consulting job, but he still finds structured environments more conducive to thought. Even though he is a full-time working sculptor now, his thinking habits remain corporate. He plays with a pen with the edge of his fingers and reaches over and uses the mouse to open an untitled Microsoft Word file. He releases the pen and types with both hands while staring at the screen: Long-term goal: Short-term goal: |
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