writing for corporate america

i am writing about how to properly pack and move fine art internationally.

did you know that certain kinds of packing foam can make paintings dissolve? it's true. fascinating.

i'm having trouble writing it. not because it doesn't interest me (because, frankly, it kind of does. i mean, we have a whole division dedicated to this. there's got to be something to it)...it's more that i haven't really flexed my writing muscles in a while. at least, not my expository ones. and the cobwebs are thicker than i would have thought. of course, it's not helped by the fact that i'm a little under the weather, or totally exhausted, or listening to one of my dreamier, mellower mixes.

frankly, i'm hating every second of it.

it's strange, because i've spent the last few months rediscovering my love of writing, whether it's lyrics (though those still flow like treacle and burn like salted wounds on their way, i still love them) or this snarky fiendness i throw out into this arena, i've been enjoying it. but this is just not doing it for me.

i guess this means i'm just not cut out to be a journalist. i'm not cut out to be a biologist, a mathematician, a painter, neurosurgeon or butcher, either. and that's just fine.

rock star it is, then.

no sweat.