i have lay sick for 2 days in my bed. sick as a dog. only during the last few hours have i begun to rise from this mean little virus. the other night i actually lost my voice (for the very first time in my life) at work. this evening i wrote in my diary for the first time since falling ill. i had so much to describe, so much to recount but, suddenly, a moment found me when i couldn't seem to identify with my human frailty, when i couldn't manage to forgive myself for even the silliest of mistakes. the last few months have been tremendous fun and i've enjoyed myself so much but i feel like i've definitely fallen off the wagon when it comes to maintaining a dedicated art practice and that makes me feel really bad. i haven't read as much as i used to, as much as i need to, want to. i know it's normal to be a bit explosive for a moment after reclaiming one's freedom but i worry that i've allowed myself to be a bit too distracted from my goals and dreams. i haven't actually thought about my long-term goals in at least 6 months.
is that bad? or just foreign to me? my path isn't something i doubt or question but i still need to make time to tend to it.
i spoke with my sister the other day about my seeming need to confess in order to feel at ease with who i am. "i'm making you my confessor!" i laughed. but the joke of it belies the truth of my condition. the immense guilt i feel over such normal things, mistake or not. it is the fact of certain horrors i've been taught to believe. the horror of certain teeth caught in my pink, making me so afraid and so ashamed of so many things...
which is weird to write. my friends tell me i seem so brave. maybe i am and i'm just not used to thinking of myself that way. one of my friends recently told me that the veiw i hold of myself is horribly outdated and it's time i get a new mirror. i'm trying to trust his analysis. because the truth is that there is very little i am actually afraid of. there are things that make me nervous and there are things that make me uncomfortable but that's not the same thing as Fear. my Fear is that i'm a bad person. i've talked about it so many times here. it's amazing how ingrained this thought-pattern is. it's amazing how easily it can be awoken and allowed to roam across my heart. it's amazing how easy it is to forget the good things about oneself. it's amazing how easy it is to believe the worst...
and the untrue.
all this to say, it's time to start thinking about new year's resolutions again. it's time to spend a bit of time reading this year's diaries and reflecting on all that's changed and all that needs to change. making more time for reading is definitely high on the list. i miss talking about literary things. i miss the influence of other writers in my life. i miss that lofty, inexplicable, heart-rending connection.
these texts are an archive of my life in the San Francisco Bay Area from march 2007 - march 2015. it stands as a record of close to a decade of my life, charting the struggles i faced as an artist, daughter, and lover. messy and chaotic at times, eloquent and poetic at others, these texts are an index i am proud of. it was here in this electric box that i learned how to be honest about my experiences and the person i needed to become. it was here that i first learned the truism that words make the world and how to trust such a beautiful, rife, hard fact.
thank you for meeting me here in such tall grass.
my artist website is here.
my artist website is here.