The Curie Family

Last night in the car my mom was telling me about the elaborate ways in which members of the Curie family suffered due to excessive radiation exposure. Pierre Curie died of a highly invasive cancer of the leg at age 48 and daughter Irene of Leukemia at 59. Surprise surprise, considering that the couple had a container of radium adorning their nightstand. Amazingly enough, Marie Curie herself held out until age 67 perishing from aplastic anemia. So this is what we talked about. Workplace hazards. How you don't know what you don't know until you know it. Oh, you know, the typical mother-daughter conversation.

A favorite nugget of wisdom that she likes to dole out to me is that I, like her and my father, will always bear the burden of anguish. Yes, it's a fact. Just like I have inherited my father's nose, and my mother's shape, I too have inherited their sense of anguish. And what she means by this (I think anyways) is that feeling that nothing is ever good enough, that you are never good enough. That there is always further to go, and every step taken to reach the ultimate destination is a step wasted simply because it is your own. What is her prescription for this malady? There is none, only to accept the pain. I have accepted this conclusion, taken those feelings of insuffiency and ran with them, if you will.

What I realized yesterday however was that for the first time, she misdiagnosed my problem. Because these past few months I haven't felt 'anguish'. Sure, I have felt like a loser, but who cares. We are all losers aren't we? Right? The problem, if it is one, is that I am bored out of my mind. Yup. It's painful to admit because I have always prided myself on never having been bored by anything, of wringing creative and/or intellectual gusto out of almost anything. When I say bored, I mean profoundly bored, bored to the depths of apathy. I simply don't give a shit about a whole lot of stuff that used to make me break out in tears worrying about. My future for one. I used to wonder how I was going to do something unique in art, make my mark. Instead of writing a blog at work I would browse one grad school after dreaming up what I would do next. And now? I don't really want to go to grad school, because I have come to doubt my vocation as an artist, seriously this time, not just as a passing fancy. I don't really care where I am in 5 years; I don't care if I make something new; I don't care if I get fired or if I don't. Its all fine. My mom suggested that maybe what I was experiencing was happiness. Hm. That’s a thought. If it is I don't think I like it.