Wonderful Thoughts at Work.

Slowly, the studio is shaping up. Tables find their matching computers, chairs find their pillows, pots – their lids. But it is very cold here, the windows, besides rain, let in a lot of wind, too, and I still don’t have heaters installed. Wrapped in blankets and hats am hoping the summer comes soon.
The work on the film finally resumed a a couple of weeks ago, and I am trying to catch up with work and time lost in the final battle over my old apartment. To write about work is boring (what you gonna write? – “I made 16 drawings today, that’s 44 drawings short of my daily plan”? how boring is that!). It is more interesting to write about the thoughts running through your head while you work. 
Like, today I thought how much I hate myself. One of the things that makes me to hate myself is how rude and inconsiderate I am to other people. Take the way I treat telemarketers (although I got a brand new Brooklyn number only a week ago (no one I know knows it) and immediately put it on “Do Not Call” list the phone rings off the hook the moment clocks hits 9 AM; apparently, “Do Not Call” list doesn’t work with business numbers – businesses LOVE to call other businesses, it is a perfectly legal love, too). The phone rings, I pick it up and absentmindedly (well, I work and my mind is in work) say:
– Hello?
The voice on the other end says:
– Huloa mory oknofomne, buk throwd onsey.
– Ekskjuze me?
– May I speak to the owner of the business?
– What is this about?
– We have funerik high technology epromoronic security systems that you have to buy from us.
A flash of frustration and anger dashes through my otherwise gentle heart.
– Put your epromoronic security systems in your other end.
– Ma’am?
– Good bye.
And I hang up. A second later I have meltdown of remorse. Is that a way to treat another human being? I know, telemarketers should be used to it but who am I to inflict more abuse? Only a hateful person would advise a telemarketer to stick something in her read end. Telemarketers are people too, they should have free choice what to stick into their favorite parts of their bodies. I cry with an awakened sympathy for the stranger who called me but was mistreated by hateful me.
Then a friend called from Italy and left a message. He thought I didn’t pick up the phone because I was protesting side by side with Wall Street protesters, and he cheered me on, while in fact when he called I was in the bathroom, peeing on my hands to warm them up. His message made me feel very bad. I SHOULD have been on the Wall Street if not protesting, then shopping for food, as my old place is just 2 blocks away from Zucotti Park and Jubilee, my favorite grocery story. Only a totally hateful person won’t have any excuses for not protesting. To feel better, I came up with 3 excuses: 1) I live really far out in Brooklyn, it takes me 1,5 hour to get to Manhattan. 2) I have to seriously work on my film. 3) I dont know what those people are protesting about, I dont mind being arrested, actually I’d love to be arrested! but I need to know for what. Then I realized that there is a 4th excuse: I am thoroughly corrupt and impossible not to hate. Wall Street protesters should protest me!
Then another friend called, from JFK, where he had a few hour layover on his way from Toronto to Buenos Aires. I didn’t recognize the number because it was an airport pay phone.
– Hey, Signe, msdjsfs jsvhs ufisfs!
– Who is this?
Another telemarketer? Or bad connection?
– Tkcbn jhsj kfhsf Robert.
I know a couple of Roberts but, incidentally, I am in no speaking terms with any of them, so I said very slowly and not very friendly:
– O…K…
But the person on the other end was still trying to make connection with me.
– Signe! ncbx khs JFK! ahshfs khshf Buenos Aires!
A dawn of recognition hit me.
– Ah, Patrick!
But then the phone went dead. The connection was lost and attempts not resumed.
I writhed in pain. What a loathsome person I am, to suspect a perfectly good friend to be one of those Roberts whom I don’t speak to! Why don’t I just jump out of my 7th floor?
I opened the window and looked down. The wind blew in my face, the tin roof of the building below rattled. I remembered I had a film to make, protests to attend, hands to pee on. I closed the window, quietly sat down at the table and started to think about something else.
Like, am I beautiful or ugly? Or maybe just a frog?

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About rocksinmypocketsthemovie

I was born in Latvia, educated in Moscow, live in New York. I have made about 14 animated shorts so far.
This entry was posted in Depression. Personal Stories, Hazards of being an artist, The Work in Progress and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Wonderful Thoughts at Work.

  1. Carl Friedberg says:

    Signe, I have to say that telemarketers do not deserve the thoughtful consideration you have brought forth (guilt). They are making calls that they know are intrusive. If they are going to sell something, they will probably have to lie to you to sell it. I try to be scornful without being hateful, cut to the chase, take me off your list, never, ever, call me again or I will sue you. Personallyl. Hah!
    fat chance.

    Radio shack used to sell a device which would answer your phone. You put in a list of people who you knew might call you (their numbers). Then anyone else would get a response which was designed to be really difficult. You know, wait 30 seconds, ask a question, wait a minute, ask to repeat what was just said, etc. then hang up in the middle of a sentence. I doubt they still make that.

    I think maybe you should invest in some “thinsulate” gloves, something thin, high tech, so you can work, but your hands would not freeze. Don’t know if you can do animation drawings with anything on your hands, though.

    Good luck, cheer up, winter is coming, soon it will be snowing!

    Carl

    • Carl, my inner response to hanging up on telemarketers is just another sign of a mental illness at work. There is an underground effort in me to find me repulsive and unworthy of affection. If am not watching, everything that happens to me is distorted to fit the thesis that am worthless and hateful. So I have to be constantly vigilant and monitor my thoughts at all times. I believe that if I put enough light in the dark corners of my Soul, the mental illness will never be able to take over. That makes me also believe that if I have enough will power to stay conscious I will never die. Very childish, you know.
      : )
      I’ll definitely check out “thinsulate” gloves, sounds like something me and my assistant will need in abundance! Thank you!

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