Life of a Designer

A coffee mug sitting on the table; drips of it dry and crusted to the sides, some still streams down like rain. A sluggish rain, almost like time has taken a back seat and decided to go at its own rate. My eyes are weary now; the computer screen is getting brighter by the minute but, somehow, it appears razor-sharp. Almost seems beautiful; like I could just jump inside and end up in some paradise of my own. I say paradise, but if I could have anything I wanted, it be more like misery, to most people.

I don even remember when I last showered, in spite of being a ‘clean freak’ as some of my friends like to brand me. I think these are the beginnings of a new mania. Falling asleep at 4a.m. and waking up at 2p.m. in the afternoon has to be harmful, right? Come to think of it, I don even remember when I went to bed at the right time, last.

Fucking. Design. I find myself immersed in pixels, colour variations, shapes, design tools and flooding myself with coffee and cigarettes. I leave my lights turned off most of the time and work in the darkness like a cunt. Probably killing my eyes. I already have a prescription, but it so low I don bother wearing them; I l go back next time and be told by the optician, quite frankly, ‘Sorry sir, your eyes are fucked.’
I remember a chat I had back in High School, with a career advisor guy. It went like this:

“So, what careers are you attracted to?”

I quite like to travel.

Well, it safe to say I fucked that one up, sitting here at 6a.m. with an empty stomach, tired eyes and aching joints from lack of exercise.

The Life of a designer

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