need

.

.

breathing

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there's a man asking questions of me.

he wants to know if i still believe in fairy tales.

i can tell he wants me to.

he pours a glass of wine and smiles and says, "you're guarded".

and he's absolutely right. 



tonight at work, i looked out the window and thought i saw X sitting across the street, yelling and ranting, and the core of me turned to ice.  i peered at his form through the window, careful not to get too close to the front of the restaurant, afraid to be seen, afraid to be noticed, afraid to provoke...  the deepest fear one can feel...  that old hook rusted into my heart since childhood...

can i give it a name?

can i write a person's name rather than an X?

not yet.

it wasn't him.  when i realized my eyes had deceived me, the most wonderfully warm sense of relief flooded my entire being and i could be myself again.  i no longer had to hide.

and then there are the emails i've ignored.  the letters from ex-boyfriends that will always flap in the wind like an inadequate, threadbare flag.  i remain silent because the tiniest squeak will be misinterpreted.  i do not want certain people to ever think of me in any other way than absolutely cold.  i am frozen through.  at least when it comes to you, you, and you.

i look up and am stunned that it's already May.  the new job is keeping me busy.  the new job and these new questions from a new man.  i scratch my head and i twirl my hair.  i buy shoes.  i paint my nails.  i fall into a rhythm of self-pleasure and contemplation.  i've never known such a wide-open, hot and hopeful pleasure as this; my ability to spend money without explanation, without guilt, no boyfriend or father to make explanations to, nobody sneering at me and rolling their eyes.  these days i go to work and get high-fives from the other girls in regard to the new boots on my feet.  and can i say, it feels fucking good.  it feels fucking good to be entirely self sufficient and free.  it feels good to revel in this independence.  to know that every penny in my pocket is a penny i earned.  to know i have a right to spend it however i choose and that i owe nothing to anyone.  no debt of sniveling gratitude.  i am beholden to no one.

and so i guard it.

i guard it because i prize it.  this freedom, this life devoid of expectation and obligation, all the horrors i inflicted upon myself trying to make others proud, trying to make others satisfied. i pour myself a glass of wine.

but i don't know where the line is between being independent and being an island.

see, it's a double-edged thing learning that a broken heart won't kill you.  it's a double-edged thing learning how to live without love, in general.   i have no father and i have no mother.  i know how to stand on my own.  i know that i will not crumble.  i know how to take the next breath.  and the next.  and the next. 



still, i find myself smiling at the budding of that old schoolgirl hope.

inexplicable.


inborn?


.

please put on this gown...

.

 

yep.  pushed myself a little too hard a little too soon by walking to the store the other day.  yesterday, i tried to make the same walk for a second time and failed miserably.  i had to turn around after getting only a block away from my house.  i spent the rest of the afternoon and evening laying on an ice pack and feeling sorry for myself.  i felt SO sorry for myself, in fact, that i didn't write at all yesterday.  i curled up in to my own sadness and i stayed there.  i couldn't stop myself from thinking: i'm supposed to be in New York right now.  

at 11 o'clock, i sent my sweet friend Jose a text that i was sad and trying very hard not to get lost in self-pity.  he called me and talked me up for a solid hour.  he reminded me that new york isn't going anywhere and this is truly just a minor setback, a short delay in the plan which may even prove to be a valuable event.  it makes me hungrier for my goals and dreams, that's for sure.

but the real issue was that i was back to hobbling around as if no progress had been made.  and when it comes to me and my life right now, progress needs to be made.  i woke up early and went to Urgent Care.  the doctor complimented me on having diagnosed myself correctly as well as having prescribed myself the correct treatment.  "Just keep doing more of the same," he said, "but here's some Vicodin too.  If your not better in a week, we may have to explore other options but I'm hopeful that since you went so many years without re-injury, you'll heal just fine."  i hope so too and the way he said these things gave me confidence that maybe, if i just relax and stop focusing on the many negatives of this situation and attempt to see this as a learning opportunity, that i will be back to normal in no time flat.

my beautiful friend Trish came by after work today and took me to the store to pick up fish and vegetables to eat for the next few days.  i plan to pretty much keep myself incapacitated with painkillers so that i move as little as possible.  i may or may not get any blogging done after posting this.  maybe i'll just let myself be a netflix-addicted mess for the next 3 days and see how that aids my recovery?  i need to get back to work.  i need to get back in to the swing and hum of existence.  i need to feel undaunted and assured and trust that, now, it really is only a matter of time before i can step confidently back in to the rhythm of my life.  

the upside is that i've actually managed to get some reading done.  i read Freud's "Mourning and Melancholia" again.  it's been no less than 5 years since i last read it and it happened to be laying at the top of one of the boxes i brought home from my storage unit.  in addition to that, several essays in Kris Kraus's "Video Green".  i think her book is quickly becoming one of my favorite volumes of collected essays of all time.  where else can one find such a beautiful stew of art theory, LA living, and personal reflections upon one's exploration of S/m?  it's amazing! i think i'll actually enjoy one more essay and a cocktail before getting zonked out on meds and movies and crochet.

"...this machine will not communicate these thoughts and the strain i am under..."

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the tightening in my chest.  the ache that finds my angles, all my spectacular corners, so pink, so unexpectedly soft.  in my private moments i like to give these spaces a name and i name them Ugly.  i name them Inept.  i name them Not Good Enough.

my friend wants to slap my face for speaking this way and so i cough up all my vain confessions.  i pour the vodka in to the empty pocket where my heartache has bored a hole.   i look at my face in the mirror and try to see yours.

i look at my face and wish i was looking at yours.



and maybe i'm not trying to build anything lasting, after all?  maybe it's just all this hunger we've been taught to hold, taught to cultivate, when really my exaltation is as dependent upon my destruction as it is these rare moments of pleasure in which my spirit soars, in which my spirit is reborn...

in so much spit!  in so much sweat!  and the man screams "immerse your soul in love!"  if this is not religion, i do not know what is.  if this is not religion, let all religions fall.



.
 

hello again

i've been so busy since the new semester started a few weeks ago.  unbelievably busy.  it seems that suddenly my life has come full circle and i spend the vast majority of my time working and studying, waiting for a free moment that i can give to art-making.  i reel in my desire to stay out late drinking in bars and embrace my time-honored affection for long nights of reading and drawing at home alone on my bedroom floor.  my old, gentle habits return.  my quiet self, my thoughtful self emerges.  it's the right time of year for such a return. 

a few days ago i celebrated my first anniversary of being single.  an entire year has elapsed.  12 solid months. it's so strange;  it seems like it's been so much longer than that.  i've done so much living since the day i walked out the door, taking only my white leather jacket and book bag with me last february.  that moment seems like a dream.  the life that followed on its heels feels real. 

i've been reading back through last year's diary.  it is a surreal experience.  i look at my own handwriting and am boggled by the words on the page.  i stare at the sentences, at the expression of such degraded loneliness and my small squeaks of hope, and wonder how it was ever possible that that life was really mine.  we humans often find ourselves in situations we didn't intend.  the years get away from us so quickly.  our naivety blinds us.  our fear of pain delays decision after decision.  we ache for something better than what we have but we feel guilty for wanting it.  we assume that wanting something other than what we've got means we're bad, wrong, or selfish.  i wasn't leading a bad life, i was simply stuck in a life that wasn't right for me.  i'm thankful to have this level of understanding at my disposal.  it feels good to be able to understand the lives and motivations of others as a result of having had such an experience.  i am more compassionate today that i was a year ago.  i am stronger and more able to give respect, tolerance, and understanding to other people.  i have a greater capacity for love than i have ever had before. 

still, i'm in no rush to couple-up.  i was in a relationship for 7 years.  i'm enjoying all this ME TIME.  it's nice to be able to plan trips and not have to worry if another person approves or not.  it's nice to be able to spend money on whatever the fuck i feel like spending money on without having to worry about what judgement may befall me as a result.  it's nice not to have to cook dinner every night.  it's nice to cook whatever i want for dinner and not have any discussion about it whatsoever.  it's nice to simply be myself.  it really is.  i like who i am.  i like not having to amend my self or argue for my own interests and desires.  i like not being confronted with the "necessity" of concession and compromise.  and i'm hopeful that there are other types of relationships possible in this life aside from what i just described.  i'm hopeful that in the future i'll stumble in to a situation that feels good, feels respectful of who i truly am, and encourages me to be my best. in the meantime, i'm doing a pretty good job of encouraging myself. 

it feels great to return to a deep degree of dedication when it comes to language acquisition and study.  i have two german classes this semester and am currently saving money for a trip to germany in summer.  i come home to my books and my art after work rather than heading off to a bar.  don't get me wrong, i love bars, it's just time to be a bit more measured when it comes to how much time (and money) i spend in them.  i've got dreams to chase and tons of lessons to learn.  this little waiter needs a clear head, an open heart, and money for plane tickets.  and it's amazing to see myself come back around to ideas and interests i had this time last year but that i necessarily had to put on hold while i tended to the very real concern of my own survival and building a life for myself.  it's fantastic to read how excited i was to attend the Francesca Woodman retrospective at SFMOMA last year and relive the profound affinity i felt toward her work.  it's wonderful to read about my budding enthusiasm for photography and streetart and then to realize that now, a year later, i'm participating in both art-forms in a serious manner.  so many things seem to be coming back around to degree zero and i feel refreshed and recharged by that lucky occurrence. 

all this to say, it's nice to be back.  life sure gets good every now and then and there's a hell of a lot to look forward to. 

;)

DAY 1

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maybe it is true that i am less afraid of you than you are of me.


. . . . .
 


i tilt the glass between my lips and look at myself in the mirror.  i am sitting cross-legged in bed, computer on my lap, red gloves on my hands, my beloved Greyhound to my left.

this first day, this first night of this new year is achingly cold.  it began at the BART station at 7am, sleeping on a icy concrete bench, waiting for the locked gates to roll up and usher forth the first train to wisk my frozen bones home.  a bit too much whiskey maybe.  a bit too much champagne.  or maybe not enough.  never enough.  my wooden leg can definitely hold me up these days.  and as i pushed my bag beneathe my head, i thought of europe.  i fantasized about sleeping outside train stations in germany.  i thought of my mother there as a young G.I. at the age of 19.  she always wanted to return.  i have begun making my preparations.

i fell asleep easily there on that concrete slab.  the angry rumbling of the gates opening woke me an hour later.  i boarded my train and instantly fell back to sleep and missed my stop.  i woke right as we were pulling away from the station where i should've gotten off.  this made me laugh at myself and feel happy about the world, happy about my life.


. . . . .



as i walked home, you texted me. i save so many of your messages.  i wonder if you save any of mine.  you speak to the center of me on accident, it seems.  and so often.  i cannot do otherwise than hold tight the poetry that finds me.  the morning was bright and i felt safe.

with your words in my eyes, i turned my key in the lock and found an empty house.  each roommate off living a romance somewhere else or recuperating in a corner.  i hopped in the shower and scalded my body to try to rid myself of the deep cold i'd collected.   blisters on my heels and pinky toes from walking a few too many miles in the wrong pair of shoes, but i have walked my way to a new sort of freedom, a new and better life.

i have such a great, wide open hope.

welcome, welcome 2013!

girl, your voice breaks my heart...

.

the desperation is overwhelming.  i know it inside and out.  how many years?  even as a young girl?  how many silly evenings did i spend wishing on the first star for a way out?  and now, with no parents to run from, i still identify with this eagerness.  i spent too many years inside such hunger.

but now i live in a city. i know how to wait tables. there's nothing to run from these days.  i can write poems in the evenings and dream in my lonely hours of hands in my hair, a man that might understand me or, at least, a song like this.  i can read whatever terrible philosophy finds me.  i can curl up beneath a blanket i made with my own two hands.  just me and my crochet hook and a bit of yarn, just like my mama, just like my daddy.  where the fuck did those two go?  oh yeah, one died and the other decided it wasn't worth the trouble.  life.  and so i listen to this song and ache.  people i haven't seen in a decade leave messages on my phone and my eyes sting with tears.  but that was a different life.  i'm not that little girl anymore.  i'm not a little girl at all.  i'm 32 years old.  i'm grown.  i've been thrown against the wall and come face to face with some shit that was way before its' due.  and i'm not mad about it, just please attempt some understanding...  i can't be younger than i am.  i can't be 32 in certain ways.  in certain ways, i'm so much older than that.  how old were you when your mother died?   did you have a stable job?  did you have a spouse?  did you lose a spouse? did you have children?  were they grown?  were they in college?  see, when i was in college i was taking care of my dad.  he's a quadriplegic.  i would go to class and then race home to cook dinner, do the laundry and be a confidant.  on the weekends, sometimes, i'd paint pictures that were sold in a gallery in san francisco.  people only saw the paintings.  they didn't see what went on behind them.  i wasn't a good enough artist at that point.  i didn't know how to make it apparent.  i didn't want to.  i've spent alot of years feeling very alone and very ashamed.

but not anymore.  and no matter.  it's just that i love this song.  and while it plays i crave the same shit she sings of...  that goddamn ache, that reprieve.  just put your hands in my hair, kiss me hard and make me feel like none of this matters, that i am somewhere else...


....


at intervals, i feel like one big gaping wound....  

or one big block of ice. 

does it matter which?  i still need your mouth.  i still need your hands.  i am still a human being, equipped with all the tawdry longings and secrets that most possess, and i still want a strong arm around my shoulder.


i play the old tunes that our parents put on the stereo when we were children.  my heart aches something awful.  not for what might have been but for what is.  and in spite of how i feel tonight, i love us kids with such ferocity.  they don't see it but we have been made so much more beautiful because of what we've come through, dear brother and sister.  the task is for us to see it.  and then, to believe it. 

;)


.

some nights, a girl can't help but think: FUCK IT ALL.

God...  sometimes i hate your creation.  do i even believe in You?  sometimes i hate everyone.  what good comes of humanity?  at its most basic, is there anything to experience joyfully?

i guess i'm just pissed off.

who knows me?  no one knows me.  they think they do but they don't.  maybe my brother.  maybe my sister.  everyone else thinks they have an accurate read on my number but the card they hold is upside-down.  tell me, show me:  where is your dead mama and all the  prayers whispered in her name?  where is your absent father and his absent strength?  where is the lover who rejected you, totally?  where is the love you've always needed, just out of reach, so close you could feel the eyelashes and still denied?  so please. judge me to my face.  call me "bitch" and act like i'm some spoiled little girl who doesn't know how to pay her bills on time.

does the context really matter?  does the impetus?  because when it comes right down to it the fact is that i feel alone, destroyed and singular in the worst way.  there are nights when i feel so happy to go to bed alone...  and there are nights when i feel so enormously alone and come face to face with the realization that, in spite of appearances, i've been going to bed alone for years.  no one is going to be my rescuer.  there is no knight in shining armor to wait for.  it's all bullshit, i promise you.  the fairy tales that have infected me are criminal and i hate you all for spilling them across my flesh.  stop taunting me with your soft phrases.  stop irritating the soft corners of my heart with your romantic hope.  i am not encouraged, i feel devoid.  the lack i feel is enormous and indescribable.  i want nothing from you but your warm hand.  if you would deny me this, deny me all and go on your merry way.  find a girl less enthusiastic, less passionate, less likely to get her hair in a twist.  i care too much to be silent.  i care far too much to look at the flesh of another and not want to combat death to the inth.  i will wage such wars as you've never seen and i will wage them, gently, across your skin with my lips and breath.  i will make you feel alive and taut and tender.  i will understand you in a way you've yet to be understood.

i can be loyal...

if only you would raise a hand to my face and be loyal to me.





i honestly can't believe what i've been subjected to.  i can't believe what i've tolerated.  i look in the mirror at my budding crow's feet and wonder , "what the hell have you done to yourself?  what took you so long, girl, to stand up for yourself?"

it isn't often that i cry in my white room.   when this shit hits, it hits hard.

ignore me.

i am impatient and silly and i have a big bleeding heart.

X

i begin to think at times that i might be one of the worst people on the planet. i know this isn't true. one of those strange fears left over from childhood. the bad habit of self-hate. there are plenty of people out there who are way worse than i could ever be but, still, i think it. i feel it. some sort of cold nausea of the heart. the pounding of such a sad organ. round and round we go, all this aching blood looking for an outlet, an outcry, some sort of solace from what the world is and what life has been.

i am such a fucking downer here. tis the season in so many ways. this white rectangle is my repository for all the bad little things i hide in real life. it is the precious receptacle of everything dirty and mean and whiny. i can be totally unattractive and completely loathsome here and the only punishment i can count on is that no one will read these words which, in this age, is a big blessing. who knows what the hell i'm trying to say anyway. this has become a death blog and i really don't know what that means or entails. i finished reading Close to the Knives and it was all so painful and beautiful and i thought that if i can at least outfit my friends in black sweaters and black banners and leave them with some interesting things to read before i die i will have done alright.

he writes: "i want to be untouchable and without need."

i writhe beneath such a sentence. i know exactly what he means and it makes my heart hurt. i want to feel such a deep, inconsolable void that pain doubles over itself like a somersault and spits out something beautiful and necessary. something beyond all this whining, all this conjecture, and hungry hands searching in the dark blankets for some amount of security.

i can't name the things i wrestle with. nouns have no power over them. still, i lean in toward the future with hopeful eyes like a child. such a big hope that i am blistered by it, radiant and expectant and willing to go on trying and working and struggling.

i ended up scoring two of the coolest...

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return

ahhhh...

i love it here. LOVE!

we are by no means settled in in regards to books being in the case and paintings hung on the wall (there are boxes everywhere), but my heart and brain has settled in swiftly. the switch was flipped instantly. as soon as i stepped across the threshold here i was at home and it felt as if the last 3 years in the country were only a dream, never happened at all. it feels like no time has passed since i last lived in this city.

yesterday, i began my new job hunt and am keeping my focus limited to jobs i actually want and feel inspired to try for. i went driving around this morning to drop off a few resumes and locate the closest Bart Station. I also realized that the first tuesday of the month is free admission day at SFMOMA so that's where i'll be hustling off to next. :)

i can't tell you how excited, relieved, hopeful, ecstatic, motivated, inspired, and happy i am to be back in the east bay. a tremendous sense of possibility greets me each morning and i feel so thoroughly hopeful. it makes me aware that i am still young and still strong. it's a very good feeling. there's been far too much despair the last few years. and though i agree that there are definite benefits from having experienced despair and surviving the torture of it, it feels damn good to be on the other side of it today.

there's so much to catch y'all up but i don't know how or where to begin. maybe all the back-tracking is unnecessary anyway. Here and Now is so good and bright! all i want to do is be outside. i just want to walk up and down the avenues of my hilly neighborhood and see all there is to see. it renews me to see the skyline of downtown oakland and san francisco. a new life must be built and i am so excited to have the opportunity to do so.

the apartment hunt is finally over and so many hopeful things have arrived

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comfort

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"The same thing which makes Henry indestructible is what makes me indestructible. The core of us is an artist, a writer. And it is our work, by our work, that we reassemble the fragments, re-create wholeness."

The Diary of Anais Nin, page 69


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today

simple pleasures today. coffee and my cold morning stoop. the forest ahead. the squabbling squirrels. the pen. the notebook.

all these, in their own soft and quiet way, are a confrontation with mortality. and there is a sweep of gratitude in that. a way to secure a deep and abiding thankfulness. i begin to see FAILURE isn't even real. no such thing. except maybe giving up. just that. only that. everything else are steps and branches.

"Even if i knew tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree."

- Martin Luther

or orange tree or pear tree or cherry tree or avocado tree or banana tree or pineapple tree or fig tree or or or or...




write your poems, girls and boys. whatever form they take.

dear ariana reines,

for what it's worth, i really like what you're about. i saw a person talk some shit to you online in the comments section at Everyday Genius. i like the way you handled that. i liked it as much as i like your work and your blog, which is VERY MUCH. there's just something about what you do that gives me a lot of hope and i'm really appreciative of that. it makes me want to be more courageous and more attentive to ethics.

i like how you tell the truth. i like the words you use. i like your eyeglasses.

i like that you know you don't owe anybody anything and so all the work you make has a Gift function. i especially like that you MEAN IT- this art thing. again, it gives me a lot of hope.

thank you.

angela

ed ruscha, you give me hope.

the sun is up

yesterday, after i wrote that big beast of a post below, i got lost in a word document for the rest of the day. what began as a letter, morphed in to an odd twisty curly memoir-ish sort of thing that just kept rolling and rolling and rolling. i'd write for awhile and then stand up and walk around the house and go outside with my dog for a minute and then come back in and get another cup of coffee and look at my paintings for a minute and then the next line would pop in my head so i'd sit right back down in front of the glowing rectangle and write some more. back and forth like that over and over again. and before i knew it, my sweetheart was walking back in the door from work and the sun was beginning to drop and 4,000 words were sitting in front of me. 4,000 words is not a ton but all inside a single day it sort of is and its been happening like that more and more frequently lately. the last few months, my stamina for The Work in general has steadily increased and i find myself coming up on the end of the day so quickly lately. and i find myself worn out when i get in to bed. and excited to go to bed so that i can wake up early and get back to it the next morning.

maybe it's because the sun comes up so much earlier now? maybe it's because i have to obey The Almighty Jog so much earlier now that summer is here? maybe it's because i have finally learned how to obey a Bed Time? maybe it's all the books i'm reading? maybe it's learning how to just fucking relax a bit and not worry so much about what all this might add up to or what it means? maybe it's because i type out all this weird self-exploration here on a public blog where anybody who wants to see it can?

whatever it is, a surge had resulted. and this letter i started writing is to a person i don't even know. it's in response to something they wrote, something that touched a bad memory and i saw something of myself, some of my regrets and fears in their work, i wanted to tell somebody i suppose about the time i feel i've lost...

and so this letter curves all around, runs in 4 directions at once, goes wild and sad and strange. and i realize while i write it that i haven't lost any time at all. that everything that came before leads up to Right Now and Right Now is full of excitement and enthusiasm and commitment. Right Now i have a story to tell. and so it's a letter that will never be "sent" because it's no longer a letter. it's this whole other thing and my mind and heart are wrapped up in it and there's some huge wind of honest exposure and acceptance that flows out of it already- the undoing of secrecy, the unraveling of expectation. and my long-windedness unleashed a bright wind of hope yesterday. rambling, stuttering, striving. a search taking place. a map being made. bad teeth being removed. the ugly bed being made. yesterday was a good day.

and so The Almighty Jog awaits. and the letter. and the curling road. and oil on the wall and graphite on the palm and dog's ears to scratch and hope to have and coffee coffee coffee and word words words. the bang of keys and the scratch of things and today i think i'll spend a little time singing.

how are you?

the work work

good morning!!!!

it is another drizzly day here in wine land, another excuse to curl in to my self, my little world, my little spin spin spin of ink and oil and words. i spent a large part of yesterday writing a letter of intent for an artist residency. not easy. i have pages and pages of notes and little snippets culled from this blog about my ideas and intentions. i am trying to put them all in a line. it's time to try for the Big Stuff. in fact, i made myself a deadlines list. it's right here next to the computer so that i am forced to be aware of the date, of the time, of the schedule of the outside world. it is a good thing and i feel motivated to reach a hand toward my aspirations- even if the rejection letter comes as a result, it is good to get in the habit of trying. it is good to be in practice of dealing with rejection, not allowing it to derail you, to gain a bit more hard experience of what it is to believe in your own work. the art thing isn't supposed to be easy. how's the saying go? if it came in a bottle, every one would have it. it's true. people want to know that you're dedicated... that you mean it. and it has nothing to do with seeking approval. it has to do with standing your ground until you are the last man standing. it has to do with insistence and perseverance and a show of dedication that states you'll keep going no matter what. rejection after rejection, you come back.

i applied to this particular residency 2 years ago, fresh out of school, and was promptly rejected. ha! and i don't think it had as much to do with my portfolio as it did how i discussed the work and what my intentions were. it was a pretty crazy time in life and i'm sure the letter itself was distracted. and now, after a lot of change and struggle and wrestling with ideas, i feel much more prepared to attempt this again. the work (and how i think about it) is so much different today. so much deeper. so much more meaningful. but i'll admit i'm pretty daunted about it. all i can do is write and re-write and re-write. it's due in about two and a half weeks. the portfolio of work is compiled and ready to go. but The Letter still looms. work work work. and hope hope hope. and try try try. i've been rejected enough that it doesn't get to me all that badly anymore. the initial sting of it, the dashed dream, sucks, but it doesn't defeat me. it's worth a shot.

a pot of coffee is brewing. the morning is wet and grey and silent. no distractions other than myself. ;)

big and beautiful life changes on the horizon...

for the past several weeks, my sweetheart and i have been talking A LOT about quality of life, goals, dreams, plans, etc. and the time has come to make a move on these things. we are currently at our two-year anniversary of moving out here to napa valley. and though many positives have come out of living in such a beautiful landscape, the truth is that there simply aren't many opportunities for artists out this way... or anyone really who isn't connected to the wine industry. i have to drive an hour and a half to participate in the san francisco art world. and it has definitely been an uphill battle to get to openings, be involved, be supportive of my own community, and be a recognized face in the scene. i'm actually amazed i've been able to get as much done as i have being this far away. and i miss my art school buddies more than i can say. gas money to the city isn't something i have to burn every single day. and so the decision has been made to get rolling again, get back to the hustle and bustle, back to the land of the living. i am so excited and happy that i almost can't stand it. i am relieved and hopeful. i miss my beautiful city by the bay. i miss having close access to museums and galleries. i miss everything about living close to a cosmopolitan place. every single thing. and so i've already been sending out resumes this morning. i can stand the long commute for a couple months until we have the cash saved up to move. besides, if everything is going well right now in new york at AAF, i'll have most of the money we need to make the transition. i'm just thankful we have a plan now, something to work toward together that we both want, that we both need.

and so in the spirit of hope and change, if you're in the SF bay area (or even near it) and you catch wind of something, please think of me and let me know. it doesn't need to be art related. i am quite the skilled custom framer though and also a very effective research assistant. i'm aiming for jobs that i actually want, first. it's always best to aim high rather than settle for what you know you can get... though, if need be, i will. i want to move back so bad that, if it comes down to it, i'll suck it up and wait tables again. it's worth it. completely.

in other news, i spent the entire day painting yesterday and the next 5 footer is almost done. i hope to get it wrapped up today after The Almighty Jog and a breakfast of raspberries and coffee. :) i must say... this recent wave of painting and drawing that has flooded in to me, out of me, all around me, clogging up the living room, makes me feel so good and alive. and writing writing writing too. life is good and i am soooooooo anxious to move forward again.

good morning. :)

and so it goes...

by late afternoon yesterday, i found myself in a fragile mood. a fragile place. and i grabbed the keys to go lose myself in the throng for a little while. i lost myself looking at clothes at macy's for awhile (didn't buy any but tried a whole bunch of stuff on) and then went and looked at curtains and bedroom stuff at Target. Target traps me and i ended up staying there almost until closing time. i left with a curtain rod and 2 pairs of funky socks. funky socks have always made me happy. especially striped ones. and always knee highs. but on the drive home, i found myself getting tearful and feeling like a scared child. these things creep up unexpectedly sometimes... but they are inevitable. for all of us.

it's just the weight of the past, i suppose.

the weight of the past.

there will always be the big WHY. always the mourning for things that never were or things that left too soon or things that should have never been.

the death of an ideal.

the death of an ideal is a grievous thing. the grief is massive and can span years.

but we (i) can create new dreams to take their places. better dreams, better hopes. most of the time, i think i have an idea of how to set about accomplishing that. some days... not so much. yesterday ended up being that kind of day. but this morning i woke feeling so much better. not scared, not so unsure, not so tangled. i am drinking good coffee and i put up the new curtain rod and curtains. a deep plum. maybe eggplant. a deep, dark, dusty color that is warm and gorgeous.

it's nice to know that things can be deep and dark and be warm and gorgeous as well.