So Much Potential

What some people don't get about my day job is that it's basic design. Not hardcore design, like those kids who see the world in hexadecimal codes. It's rudimentary, fast-food design. Based on a template that other people developed. Like the difference between a sous chef in a proper restaurant and a guy who nukes burgers at McDonald's.

Occasionally—and this is usually where I get into some trouble—I get handed the jobs that stray from the template. Because I have some raw, uneducated instinct for design and I don't panic too badly about straying from the box. So occasionally at work, I have to deal with some people who don't really understand what I do and try to explain the CONTENT of what they're trying to create with me.

That's where it gets a little annoying. Because I have no understanding of, or interest in, the content of what I'm creating at work. It's utter gibberish and I'm content for it to remain gibberish to me. At the day job, my only interests are lines, contrast, clarity, legibility, flow.

If that, honestly.

Ultimately, my only interest is in covering my hours and getting paid. Getting a job done and out of my way so I can go back to reading my book, or writing a little.

Trudy—The Horse with No Friends—trotted speciously into the empty slot where the Gay Horse had not been seen in quite some time. He was uninvited (which was not so unusual for him) and he had no great purpose to appear at that moment. Like a subnormal child climbing onto a stage, only to stomp about with no fear of intention or interpretation.

The readers gawked at him with skepticism. Yet another character in the growing Misanthropic Menagerie. Random. Grotesque. Vaguely obscene, in the right light.

Whispers amidst the crowd. "I know the blog's been treading water, but is this really what it's devolved into? A parade of animal pictures?"

Trudy let out a long, insolent bray.

Then trotted off. Alone.