It has been a long time.

Apparently, I needed this much time to remember that I am keeping this blog solely for myself. I say this in an attempt to convince my psyche that it is perfectly healthy to talk to one’s self due to an absence of friends. Sure, I have a lovely assortment of empty journals I could put to use, but that would require so much effort.

Effort. Hah. I haven’t seen him, lately. Disappointment, on the other hand, is a frequent visitor; she stomps in whenever I am feeling particularly hopeful to slap the reality back into my life. I owe so much to her…like this small room in my parent’s house, my six day a week job as a grocery store clerk/workhorse/punching bag, and a general sense of impending doom.

Life back in Iowa is deceptively complicated, and I am finding it difficult to distinguish the important things from the daily muck. I have many mundane chores and obligations, many opportunities to watch the cruel and unyielding hands of the clock turn ‘round, but my heart is not in anything, nor is my mind. I cannot help but wonder where they might be, if they are not here. As the last weeks of summer break, with all its potential, slip away, I grow increasingly apprehensive about returning to school. I have gained so little (and produced even less) from this “free” time -- this time to “find” oneself and “grow” as an individual – that I feel I have failed everyone, and no one more than myself.

Driving home tonight, I passed a small, pale fox-like animal in the fog. The creature was relaxing along the side of the road, without a care in the world, and as I drove by it remained so still that I thought perhaps it was injured. I continued on for half a mile, but eventually turned around out of curiosity. Slowly, this time, I crept up on the thing. She stared back at me with her glowing eyes, but when I stopped, she rose and slinked away. Larger than a fox, and unlike any dog I have seen in my lifetime, I still have no idea what it was. Until I learn otherwise, I will dub her Mewpacabra.

If only I could catch them all.

There is society, where none intrudes

For people,
I was not prepared.

Nuts & Berries

Uarts says “Spring Break,” but it is neither spring, nor truly a break. There is, as always, much homework to be done, and little fun to be had.
After two more days spent alone in my room, obsessive thoughts and behaviors I haven’t experienced in two years rose up and attacked my brain. I am seriously considering laying the blame on a certain type of green tea I drank this evening for the first time in at least a year; it always seems to bring out a sort of mania that would normally lie dormant.

Last Thursday I finished my first experimental this semester. I am not particularly fond of it, as it is an excellent example of the lack of identity to my work. I will photograph and post it, nonetheless.

I finally went to a bar Saturday night. I did not attempt to keep up with Kate, who, despite being more than a year younger, and an inch shorter, can and will take double whatever I can handle. I had one beer and a mixed drink called Nuts and Berries. It was cute and delicious and left me drooling on Kate’s futon for ten hours. Bars are about as boring and expensive as I had always assumed. I have done my duty as a 21 year old, and have no intention of returning.

This probably shouldn't be public

Sometimes...

I find myself trying to live off the happiness of others because I can’t create my own. Yet, I have become so skilled at conjuring up misery in myself, my family and close friends that I almost revel in it. This cloud is all consuming and so deceptively comfortable that I simply cannot remove the knowing smile from my face.

But I am deathly tired of hurting people. I wish that someone could tell me why I am so angry and offer a solution, because I seem incapable of doing so.

I am sorry-

Uh, happy Valentine's day.

So this morning, before descending a large brick staircase and admiring massive flowing steel sculptures somewhere in Arizona, I had my skull cut open in a beach house in Maine. Apparently I had stimulated the production of plasma around my brain by scratching my head too much, so the visiting doctor cut the top of my skull off and turned me over so that I vomited vast amounts of clear, pinkish fluid out of the top of my head, and onto the shoes of my boyfriend's sister. I guess that was the best thanks I could give her after serving me pink frosted fetus cookies earlier that day.

Then I rode the furriest horse imaginable to a grocery store where my search in vain for a suitable sketchpad resulted in the purchase of a green cashiers booklet and a bottle of riesling.

Finished my charcoal self portrait...

SO BAD. SO, SO TACKY. I DON'T EVEN CARE. WELL SORT OF.
I only put six hours into it, at most, which is about a third of the time that I would usually spend on something like this, and it shows. I think my subconscious desire to be a Hot Bitch came through and finished destroying it.


Kate sent me this.

She didn't actually give it to me, but I'm going to pretend that she did, because in my book there is nothing more touching than a Carl Sagan Valentine, complete with maroon turtleneck.
So, thank you, my dearest Kathryn. You have my heart.

Mistakes Multiplied

I am in a situation that is quickly escalating into the realm of desperate, and it is entirely my fault.

When confronted with a problem, my immediate reaction is nearly always to give up. I fight this urge for the sake of others who could be affected by my chronic passivity, but I have yet to learn how to fight for my own sake.

On anther note, I have felt nothing but fondness for Valentine's Day in the past, but this year my fond feelings have been replaced by a vague, irrational fear. Of what, I do not know, but it has nothing to do with the calorie content of chocolate.

Well, fuck.

I finally decided to abandon my dreams of bikes, Wacom tablets, and backpacks with two straps instead of one and face financial reality this morning. After rent and transportation I will have $150 to live on (food, art supplies, soap) each month from now until October.

This should be interesting. Especially the part where I'm sleeping on the floor in my sleeping bag because I can't afford a mattress.
I was in a similar situation during winter break, and there was something delightfully rewarding about starving and gorging when I could. Delightful in the same way eating a grass and mud pie is delightful on a cold day in March when you are six and you have convinced yourself that you're an orphan. Unfortunately, just as when I was six, nothing was expected of me over break. Now that school has started I need my wits (and finances) about me, so I get the sense that playing "Great Depression" is going to feel distinctly unrewarding. Praying is not a typical activity of mine, yet I have found myself doing just this, asking Dionysus, Laughing Buddha and Ghost Cat that someone deem me worthy of employment this summer...

...or I'm toast.