Excuse me, but do you know what time it would be if we were on Mars?

5 in the morning!
I've seen quite a few of those over the last couple of weeks. And the next few look just as hectic. Life has been super busy, with the art show I'm interning for opening tomorrow and family stuff (my grandpa just got out of the hospital) and social stuff. Every weekend from here to August is already full. It's mostly good but exhausting. Good hectic, parties and weddings and swimming and such. Which means art happens at 4am. And I'm up all night. It's kinda great.
I've made art! (Bet you're shocked).... some of the pieces look way better in reality than in these photos.

I really like these more figurative figures. They kinda look representative and universally iconic, or maybe it's just me. (So much beeswax and maybe too much crayon? The wax is thicker and more opaque then I'd intended.)

Art is the way of showing the outside world what our inside looks like (PS I <3 Work of Art)

Hat Shaped Hat (In walked a man in the shape of a man holding a hat shaped hat and he held up 2 fingers and said how many fingers and I said peace man that's where it's at)

No clue what's going on with this page... affirmations on the left in the background, oddly sad? girl on the right.

Last page! Just experimenting with drawing with the crayons then melting just them rather than powdering them into the beeswax flecks to melt over the page. I don't like it.

I've finished this volume of art journal. I have a new one to start, but I can't unwrap until I give this one a cover. So I've done some stuff in other places:

These faces in the watercolor journal are less visible than I'd like. An experiment in technique (the pastel woman in the background, H20 pencils on aged book pages, how I draw hair).

I had no plan for this page in the Book of Dreams. I just really wanted to do a gesso transfer with the tree in the right so I shaped the page around it. I'm not so happy with the left, but the right makes me super happy. The transfer came out really well I think, worth the pain in the butt of rubbing all the paper off. Maybe with some journaling it'd be better.

...And sometimes, you fly

Yesterday, I was going to do a "Spontaneity is humbleness in the face of the Awesomeness of the Universe" page, but I got distracted first by looking for pics of the Riddler that weren't too cartoony so I could start thinking about character sketches for the comic Steve wrote, which I offered to draw for him, because the sketches I started on the train into the city are terrible.
Riddle me this: Why does my Riddler look like anime Snape?

Because I have no feeling for the Riddler, and the realism skills of a 3rd grader.
and then that morphed into a plan for a page on the previously mentioned 3rd option. Given that my plan was to do a page about spontaneity, it seemed silly to not be spontaneous.
Based off this page from Fables & Reflections

I have created this version (Pitt Pens and gesso and watercolor)

Which I'm actually very pleased with. Rarely do I finish a page and think, "hmm, that's actually good. If this were a real painting and not a page in my journal, someone might buy this" but I have that feeling about this page. Dunno how much it really counts, since it's not all that original, being largely ripped from the actual Sandman illustration, but I like it. Perhaps one day, when I get my act together, I'll turn it into a real piece in a format I could actually sell.

Last week I was enjoying the glory of spring and did a mixed-media (pitt pens, watercolor pencils, stamps, ink, acrylic, collage paper, real flowers and gesso) piece based on that. Some parts I'm really happy with, others not so much.

In Other News: There was CAKE. It was glorious. Chocolate Strawberry Moouse Cake FTW

God, that looks like the whole top of the cake is on fire... George must be really old. But no, it's only a dozen candles. They're just really bright. 

(The cake is delicious, but it might have benefited from not needing to be transported from New Ro to Brooklyn, as it got slightly squished and melty in transit)

Recipe:
Cake (adopted from the internet):
1c coffee
1c milk
8oz pureed Strawberries
4 egg whites
2c flour
2t vanilla
2c sugar
3/4c baking cocoa
2t baking soda
1t baking powder
1/4t salt

Combine coffee, milk, strawberries, vanilla and egg whites. Mix well.
Combine flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Add to wet mix.
Beat 2 min until well blended.
Bake at 350 in two 9-in rounds (buttered and floured) for 30-35 min

Moouse (my family's chocolate moouse recipe):
4 eggs, separated
8oz bittersweet chocolate
vanilla, grand mariner, or coffee to perfume
2c heavy cream

Whip egg whites
Whip cream and perfume
Melt chocolate
Temper chocolate with egg yolks, then combine and mix well.
Fold chocolate mix into egg whites and cream. Fold, do not mix, or you'll lose the fluffyness.
Refrigerate at least 4 hours, preferably overnight to set. Can be frozen.

Chocolate Ganache (flat out stolen from the internet):
8oz semisweet chocolate
1c heavy cream
1t rum (I used grand mariner)

Chop chocolate into bits
Bring cream to a boil then immediately pour over chocolate.Whisk until chocolate is melted. Add rum.

Assembly:
Take 1 cooled cake round, spread a layer of moouse. Top with layer of sliced strawberries, then another of moouse. Place second cake round on top. Pour warm ganache over top of cake, dip aprox 6 strawberries (leafy bits removed) in ganache and use them to decorate the top. Return to fridge.
I had enough Strawberries (I bought a 2lb container) and ganache left to make about a dozen chocolate dipped strawberries. Also delicious.

I had a very good weekend. George and I wandered Prospect Park, watched Ponyo and Amelie, both of which were excellent, made meatballs for dinner and crepes for breakfast. Delicious and happy. Sunday, lots of people came over for his birthday and we played about 10+ hours of boardgames before pizza and cake.
I'm so happy, it's freaky. Really, it worries me a lot.

Quotes

Historically, the claim of consensus has been the first refuge of scoundrels; it is a way to avoid debate by claiming that the matter is already settled.
- Michael Crichton

Gee, I hadn't noticed.
This appears to be most of the explanation for the Republican party and the Barefoot Monkeys.

Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.
- Ludwig Wittgenstein
And this is why Philosophy annoys me. You talk in circles and never say much. But worse, you never settle or accomplish anything.

I've had a very long week and I'm tired. Dinner at George's tonight, I'm excited.
I also need to do some major work on my comic, as tomorrow is the last class.

More Art

I love art, more than food.

I love my journal, the way the pages warp and the book grows fat with creative juiciness as I work in it. So full of art that it strains against the elastic that desperately tries to hold it closed.
I love the safety of the journal, the freedom and lack of fear- that it's ok to make "bad" art. That in the end the whole book is much much more than any single page- the power it holds. The way when I look back at old journals, I am transported back to that part of my life. The visible growth from the beginning of the journal to the end.
I love that it's not about having made art, the final product is irrelevant, it's all about the joy of creating. That I can just play with colors, materials and techniques and see what happens. If I don't like it, I can move to a new page or just add more layers- even gesso over the whole thing if I really want to be rid of it (I almost never do this, as I can usually come back later and add more to "fix" whatever was bothering me)

Basically, nothing makes me happier than my art journal.

I'd like to post some pics of what I've been up to this week, but for whatever reason google and my  computer are conspiring against me- it keeps telling me that my uploads have failed. So you'll just have to wait.

Birthdays and Monsters

Birthdays are strange, lumbering creatures. They come slowly, inexorably. You hear them dragging along, they do not sneak. No amount of preparation or planning keeps them at bay, each of us has our own version of the birthday monster. Mine always brings with it loneliness, and self-doubt. Two of my frequent visitors, yet I'm always convinced I can avoid them if I just try a different strategy. But here they come again, loneliness, a tall spindly fellow, all sharp edges and hollow in the middle, self-doubt trailing behind short and hunched as he shuffles along. No mouth, for he has no voice to speak for himself, his big sad eyes say all he could ever need to.
Some very quick character studies for said monsters:

Ok, that sounded way more depressing than it needed to. Really it's not that bad. I had lunch with my Grandma (Chinese food, while hardly thrilling, is aways delicious) and made some art. Nothing else that's finished, so no more pics.
And lots of people called or posted on my wall to say happy birthday. Interestingly, those people consist of my immediate family, and people I was either never close with or haven't spoken to in years (for the most part), while the people I see all the time have been strangely silent.
Matt Wise said to do a shot with someone in his name. Alas, I lack anyone to do shots with, in his name or otherwise, so that birthday wish will not get fulfilled.

Tim Burton!

So, today, I went to the Tim Burton exhibit at MoMA. Oh. My. God. And I do not say that lightly. Holy shit, it was amazing. Seriously, if you're in the NYC area, get your butt over there before it closes (April 26). Even my non-artsy friends really enjoyed it. It is epicly fabulous, as Tim Burton is wont to be.
Edit for brief art talk on why Tim Burton's work is fabulous:  It seems simple and almost child like, and is highly imaginative. But it's rich with layers of meaning, way more than you can take in in a couple of hours of an exhibit. Plus he's technically brilliant, using a wide variety of mediums with complete control, without sacrificing fluidity. His painting style is very different from his pencil work, with brush stroke movement similar to Van Gogh, while his pastel work is heavy, but still feels spontaneous. Really, his ink/watercolor work is my favorite. His line quality is superb, and his pieces looks very unplanned, like everything is a doodle that just came out perfectly, and nothing is overworked. He uses touches of color to liven up the work further, while retaining the freshness that keeps his pieces, which are often creepy as hell, from becoming moody. Now that I feel like I've written a gallery report on why Tim Burton is excellent, I'll stfu and go to sleep.
At first, I was kinda depressed because it was all holy shit awesome, and I will never be that awesome. But then I remembered that pretty much everything in the exhibit was done when Tim Burton was substantially older and more trained than I am, and one day, I too shall be awesome. Perhaps even awesome enough for my own exhibit at MoMA, but expecting that would be ludicrous.
And now that I have a connection cable for my camera I give you: Tim Burton Style Monsters, which I just created this evening:

And Valentine's Cards, which I must write in and send off. They will be late, but not because I don't love the recipients. I'm just slow. These are being sent because I failed new year's cards epicly.

And a journal page from a few days ago that I really love, unfortunately the camera failed a bit as I was working (really it was user error- the bits I was working on were not in the shot etc), so there is no video, well, not one I'm willing to post.

The quote is from Weakerthan's Reunion Tour. Lyrics here. Such an excellent song.
In the morning, I have to color page 2 of my 8 panel exercise, plot and thumbnail the first 3-5 pages of my stroke comic, and write the messages into my valentines. Plus I want to work on some more whimsical Tim Burton type art. Now that I have a camera cable, I'll try to update with pics more often.

Hiatus

As you may have noticed, I've fallen off the world a bit. I had lots of grand ideas, and I really do want to get to them all. Unfortunately, technology is conspiring against me. My laptop is in a sad state, despite my earlier reformat, and I had to send it off to have it's motherboard and DC jack repaired. I'm currently using my mom's laptop when it's available. My camera cable is MIA, so I can't upload pics. And my new flip has to be sent home to it's maker to be fixed also.
When my various bits and pieces get sorted out, I'll be able to embark on a new, more focused blog where I'll post videos and pictures and lots of art.
Until then, I'll probably be more or less invisible, and I'll be cleaning, knitting, painting and snowboarding (Quechee mountain this weekend). Oh, and working. Yeah, that job thing. And taking classes! I signed up for a class on drawing graphic novels and one on ceramics starting next week. Should be excellent.

thnks fr th mmrs

Do you remember when we went out in any weather, pretended to be wizards and stayed up all night. When glitter and top hats and tutus were worn without reason, or concern for what anyone else might say? When pajamas were selected for snugglyness and excellent patterns, not for how sexy someone else would think you looked in them? And everything else was to? What happened to that? Where did those people go? Who stole my magic? I keep trying to blame it on external forces, but the truth is, I did it to myself. Slowly, I let other people tell me who to be and where to go and what to do and what to want. I bet you did too. I ignored myself long enough, hoping I'd just go away and be left with who I was "supposed" to be. But that is so not happening. Normally, when I realize that this is what I've done to myself, and why I'm so unhappy, I get angry and decide to basically tell everyone to go fuck themselves, but in the morning, I can't actually tell my mom to bug off, so I slip back into my old pattern. This time, I'm going to try a different approach. Slower. I'm going to buy a video camera and make art and try to work on writing a book. We'll see.

Plauge sucks

I am sick. My nose is stuffed and I feel icky. I want to be able to either give in and just collapse or tell the cold to go to hell and just get up and paint. But I really have too much to do for either of those to be viable options. Instead, I slept late, and my plan for the day revolves around bed, tea, knitting, and painting cards. Why must I still make at least another half dozen cards? I feel like I've been doing this forever. I'm suddenly so glad that only about 15 of my friends responded(well, ok, so some of them live together, so they only get one card for multiple people). Time for another card background and maybe a shower. Then more knitting while I watch serenity (finally). I live such an exciting life, here in my world of pjs and tissues. Why are we out of the tea I like? And out of honey? I am not pleased.

Excellence and amazement

Making good progress on the holiday cards I'm painting- 7 almost finished, plus completed backgrounds for 6 more- this means only details and stamping remain for those, and 8 more backgrounds. Also, a couple of really good paintings finished or in the works...
I saw a really inspirational exhibit of Georgia O'Keefe's abstract work at the Whitney on Saturday, which was good. Makes me excited about color and watercolors all over again, so I'm playing a bunch with those.
My knitting projects are going well, still have to do David's hat, plus the one for the grab bag, and I got this amazingly beautiful yarn for a scarf for me once that's all done.
Today, I went to the Tuba Christmas at Rockefeller Center. It was fun, albeit very wet. And I was slightly disappointed to discover that Tubas on Ice doesn't mean they skate while they play, rather that they stand on mats which have been rolled onto the ice and the stage behind the rink. But still, an army of tubas playing Christmas carols is win.
But mostly, I'm in a really good mood because today I got a job! Yes, that's right, gainful employment, where they pay me. $20 an hour, about 15 hours a week, mostly from home, managing the yoga studio my mom and I go to. And I'm probably going to take a couple of classes next semester, psych and art, at Hunter in the city, so that I can think about going to grad school for art therapy at some point.
So basically, I'm feeling really good about all that. Money and classes and art. A good direction for my life. Now if only I had a circus to play with and a way to live somewhere other than with my mom, everything would be pretty much perfect, but still, can't complain.

I Will

Will is the best word. Almost as good as Hat. Which is my word.
I am a moose. A Moose in a Hat....
Anyway. Will. Will is both the word that says, yes, I'm going to do or be or achieve whatever it might be, and the way you do that. I Will, because I Will it to be so, Through Will (the force) I will (the action).
Such a good word.
I will be bold. I WILL.
I will be me. I will stop being afraid of what others might think. I will wear what I want, I will make the art I want, and if you don't like it, that is not my problem. It is not my fault.
This would be easier to accomplish if I weren't going to see my grandparents tomorrow. My mom's reactions are likely to be difficult enough. I know they're not going to stop loving me if I wear a tutu, but they want explanations. Why did you dye your hair purple? Why are you wearing that? Why don't you get a job and be normal?
Because I want to. Because I can. Because I have tried to be the person you want me to be for long enough, and that isn't who I am. And it's not making me happy.
Perhaps because I have been letting them get their way for so long, it is harder to break free. Most off my friends stopped doing things because they were "supposed to" gradually, over years, starting in middle and high school. I am doing it more abruptly, and later. And it's hard. But I have to. For me. I Will.
If everyone did this, we would all stop trying to make other people who we think they should be, and let them be who they are.

Worse Things have happened

Today I went to the Met. Which I was too ansty for, I couldn't focus on the art and when I tried to sketch in the Greek and Roman galeries, I discovered 2 things that prevented me from doing much. 1) the benches are all facing the backs of the pieces or at awkward angles and 2) there are an awful lot of people in the Met at 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon. Doesn't anyone work? In the right art mindset neither of these would be a problem. In the Louve, I crouched on the floor in corners until my legs gave out and I fell over because I'd gone numb from too many sketches of too many pieces. Today, I managed a very brief 10 minute sketch of a marble statue of Venus. And that was it.
I did, however, discover the "study room" above the gallery which is filled with crowded glass cases roughly sorted of pottery, statues, jewelery and whatever other bits and pieces they had. And I do mean roughly sorted: each case contains probably a hundred various objects, and is simply marked "Crete: Bronze Age" or "Horses in Imperial Rome". I'm making the specific titles up, but you get the idea. This room was mostly empty, and had what I think of as that "Brittish Museum feeling". Now, I have never been to the Brittish Museum, so I have no clue why I think this, but it's when you're in a space that feels amazing, holy almost, in that you can feel the palpable energy of the history or art or whatever. Most spaces that should have this feeling (such as the Acropolis) have been trampled and filled with tourists, so the eons of emotion and worship have been crushed and can no longer be felt.
This is one of the saddest things in our world.
Mostly, I tell myself that worse things have happened, which Danielle wrote a beautiful post about today, quoting from The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy, on (amongst other things) the idea that Worse Things Have Happened. This is an idea that both saves me and gets me into trouble. No matter what is happening, I might reply "worse things have happened" - which could mean "I've survived worse, so I'm not afraid" but could equally be -not sarcastic exactly- but somewhat tounge in cheek "Is that supposed to worry me? It actually sounds kinda good."
I use the first way much more. To remind myself that nothing thus far has proven stronger than I am, so while this might suck, it too is temporary and I can survive it too. Because I'm quite durable. I'm tired, but who isn't?
However, when it comes to a few things, like the way our world has become so comercial and fake, I lose perspective. Worse things have happened, like genocide. But its all so tangle together at this point. When I sit on the subway, and some guy panhandles by singing the song he wrote for Jesus and everyone carefully ignores him, I turn up my ipod too. And I watch as no one looks at him or each other, at a city full of people pretending to be alone in crowded cars where every lurch presses you against a stranger. And I know why we can distroy so much for "comfort" and the all-important "convenience". Because it is a culture of self-absorption. Of loud voices and disregard for history and beauty. And I am certainly an offender. And I wish I could stop. But I know tomorrow, I'll be back to my desire to consume. Hell, I spent too much money today (art supplies and candles) and we all know I'm not going to undergo a radical personality shift and give up the soda and chocolate and junk food or the loud, sarcastic commentary or my ipod or cell phone or laptop. But as a society, we must do something. Because how can this culture leave anything but hollowed-out, brittle, self-absorbed shells where people are supposed to be?
And now I'm thouroughly depressed.

Moving

No, not where I live. As previously mentioned, I have no money or job or prospects for either, and until those things materialize I will continue to live with my mom, who is very kindly supporting my foray into insanity. Which is very kind of her, and also crucially important both to my financial situation so I can have time to make art and to my emotional health so that I can feel ok about doing so (it's really important for me to feel supported by someone, that this isn't a completely insane thing for me to be doing, even if that person is my mom, and the love and support is more or less unconditional and not based solely on artistic merit).
I am, however, thinking of moving to a new blog address and (having now just signed up for accounts on etsy and youtube) trying my hand at making some videos and selling my art. Because I need to stop sitting around, thinking I'm just as good as these other people, and why do they have huge followings and I don't, and get out there and try. Trying is, at least for the moment, just as important (if not more important) than succeeding.
Unfortunately, this plan is slightly more challenging due to the fact that I don't really have the necessary technology. Sure, I have a digital camera, and it takes video, but it's quite crappy, and so my pictures of my art don't really do them any justice. Also, I only have a 1gb card, so who knows how much video I can capture? Probably not much... well, t says 12 minutes, but I have about 30 pics on it at the moment. Maybe my brother will let my borrow his nice camera or Friedman will, or something, and I'm thinking about asking for a video camera for Christmas or something. We'll see.

Process Story

In politics, the last thing you want is for the press to write a process story. You want them to write about the issue, not about how the government is working.
But I like process, it fascinates me.
I always want to know what people are thinking. how they're doing stuff, and why.
So my art process is all about stopping that.
Stop thinking, just do.
I try to stop worrying about how each piece is going to end up, and focus on making it.
And if I don't think about what I'm doing, that is, I shut off the nasty voice inside my head that paralyzes me with a thousand questions (what is this piece going to say about me? how will it make the viewer feel? what does it mean? will anyone like it? is it worth doing?). Sometimes then I make art that is "good" whatever that means. Mostly I tell myself that all that "good" means is that I like it, either because its beautiful, or it makes me feel something or it effectively communicates my point of view. But I still don't know if anyone else will feel that way, and the only way I can know that is to show it to other people. Which is terrifying.
I have to get over that. I tell myself that if just one person buys just one piece of my art, then it'll feel better. I won't have to be afraid anymore. But I'm sure that that isn't true, that no matter how many other people like my art, or even buy it, I'll still be afraid that every piece isn't good enough. In fact it'll only add more pressure. Because every piece is a risk, each time I make art I am putting myself out there, letting people into my brain, and if they don't like it, then I must not be any good, and I should stop now.
Which is why I don't try to sell my art. But that's silly.
Everyone doesn't have to like your art for it to be worthwhile. And as long as I learned something, or enjoyed making it, or like the result, then it is "good", and I should keep doing it.
And you should too. When did we decide that all that mattered was results, measured solely in other people's opinions and willingness to spend money? What messed up cultural idea made us think that was how we should measure the "value" of our art, and of ourselves?
I refuse to play that game anymore. I will create what I want to create, and I will try to sell it. And maybe someone will like it too, and buy some. And maybe they won't. But how can I know unless I try?

Artists too

You know how if I was paranoid, I'd think that someone is watching me? Otherwise, this is yet another sign that I'm not alone. Today's QC is sort of the description of my whole life. And this why I don't have job.
So I'm off to paint, so I can roughly pretend I've been doing something with my life.

Apologies

I don't seem to make enough of them.
Gibbs says "never apologize, it's a sign of weakness".
But I'm not convinced. So, just a quick post to say I'm sorry.
Sorry that I never post. Sorrier that I never act on the impulse to call or write or let you know that I'm alive, and that I wonder how you are and I miss you. Sorry that I don't do the things you want me to do, that I can't be the person you want me to be. Sorry that I'm so selfish and whiny and that I keep making you put up with it. I only hope that the sarcastic commentary is occasionally funny enough to make up for it. And not just annoying, as I suspect it is.
And I want to say thank you for being my friend anyway.
The reason: I realized that I've been trying to make myself this woman, which means I have to make one of you this man. Which isn't very fair. And I've been doing a lousy job of it, so I keep making us these people instead. At least it's music I like, even if it does mean I keep ending up with fucked up relationships with my guy friends.
Or maybe you all think we're fine, and it's all in my head because I'm completely egomaniacal. Which is apparently not a word. But the only word I know that's similar is vainglorious. And obviously, I can't use that. Not only because that would mean I was saying the problem is that I'm Christopher-esque, which I am distinctly not, but because vainglorious doesn't convey the right level of self-absorption. Its more boastful and is about pride rather than general self obsession. And I'm pretty sure egomaniacal is a word, and that time it didn't underline it, so what the fuck? As Robin would say, dwonky.
In other news: since I've been home, I have accomplished very little. A couple hours "cleaning" mostly so I'd have space to take out my cold-weather clothes. I've been biting my nails, which I completely stopped in Canada. And last night and today, I've done a little art. Maybe I'll eventually have some to show. And I'll sort out my costume for Halloween. Votes on if I should be Psyloche or Rouge?
And see, again, in a post that was meant to just be an appology for being a shitty, self-absorbed friend, I've gone completely off into talking about myself. Seriously though, I need to learn to shut up about myself. Danielle thinks it would make me less offensive. Friedman says he doesn't get offended, and that I shouldn't worry about people who do. I dunno, I'm trying to be a decent human. I'm just failing spectacularly. But really, I do love you all and I miss you. Call me or email me or something, because I'm clearly never going to manage to contact you. But I'll keep trying.

It's not the end of the world, in fact it's not even the end of the summer

But thank god the TV is on,
'cause there's no way we could know
Anything that’s goin' down
Or how we're supposed to be feeling about it
I can't tell you how much I wish we could shut up and smile, yeah
-Bowling for Soup- Shut up and Smile

Actually, it is the end of the summer. The end of that period where life is in limbo, just waiting for a decision and it'll all work out if I just give it time. The heat hasn't broken, in fact the rain only recently stopped. School is starting, but I am not invited- I was so desperate to be done with it, but now, I have nothing to fill my days. My mom is going to come home for good soon, and then, the (until now) intermittent nagging to get a job or go to classes or Something, to figure out my life, will become constant. The more I think about reality, the more I want to curl up and never ever do anything.
I feel isolated. Not lonely, because I see people and go out, and I'm happy not to do so all the time, and because when my mother is home, I feel more alone. Just- I love my friends here, but the relationships are different. They aren't touchy-feely. At Vassar, my sarcasm and loudness work because it has contrast. People like Dierdre and Danielle who are happy and bouncy, people like Katie and Devin who are quiet or sweet or immature. Here, there are two choices, loud and sarcastic or quiet and acerbic. The others got scared off or overpowered, or indocrinated or something. Some of them come back and visit, but the group is shrinking, shriveling as it ages into a sour fruit. Leave us long enough, we'll ferment into vinegar. We love each other, but like my family, my friends show it by playfully (for the most part, although less so in my family) torturing eachother. There is no snuggling. No sharing of intimate fears, hopes or thoughts. I mean, I do, master of the overshare that I am, but no one else does. In some cases I know exactly why. I mean, if Friedman started to tell me about his deepest thoughts I would probably try to take his temperature (and certainly ask if he was feeling alright/ make a joke about not wanting to know his innermost thoughts because tenatcle porn gives me nightmares or something). And, I probably have more deep, honest talks with him than with everyone else combined. Maybe they share important stuff with eachother, and the problem is me. I joined this band of misfits much later than almost everyone else, I talk about myself too much, I'm certainly not likely to be a prime target for sharing of secrets. After all, I tell everyone so much, I must not be able to hide anything. Not true. I keep my actual secrets very well. And other people's even better. My standards for what qualifies as a secret are just very high.
I don't know what I want from them. I don't know what I want from myself. I don't know what I want from life. I do know that I need a hug and I am tired of sleeping alone and not having anything to DO. I don't function well when I have no one to take care of/ no crisis to solve.

I haven't gotten out of my PJs all day. I've done the usual: looked all over craigslist for a job, looked up pieces for a halloween costume (we're doing Xmen, I'll probably be Rouge. Maybe Psylocke, if I decided I want to be very naked. Why are the individual xmen- especially the women- so lame?). I'm trying to be a productive human - for me that means:

philosophical thoughts: How can you explain why you care to someone who doesn't? Is caring a good thing? Elias is trying very hard not to care about others, and not to act on any caring he feels, in order to be able to take care of himself. He thinks that's fine as long as you allow people to leave and make it clear that that is your plan. He points out that I'm much better at that than he is. Yes, I am very good at making it clear that I am a selfish bitch. But then I go and try to take care of others and get upset that no one spends nearly as much (sometimes it feels like no one spends any) time or energy on trying to help me/worrying about my needs. Certainly that plan isn't working out very well for me. And I don't know why I keep doing it. Or how to stop if I decide I want to. But I think not caring about how you affect others makes you a sociopath. So I'm skeptical at best about his plan. I dunno. Going to see him in Toronto may be a terrible plan. We had what I expected/intended to be a fight about it, but as always, he was calm and logical, and so I have a lot of trouble being pissed off because he's so calm and just wants me to explain better so he can understand. Unfortunately, much of it is emotional, so just as I cannot explain why I care so much about other people, I cannot explain why him not caring upsets me. It's just how I feel. When I get tired of philosophy,

I watch bad TV and try to paint:
Today, watercolors. a gunfight, and then flowers. And a tree. With leaves, much less skeletal and depressing than I usually make. Someone who found my art would really think I was fucked up. Bloody wounds, immediately followed by pansies and snowdrops.

And more lyrics, this time, a departure from the Weakerthans. Gary Jules's "Pills"
I've taken all my pills
But I'm still not sleepy
Tried to trick myself into thinking
That I'm not awake
That it's only a dream
Put that cigarette out
Don't ask me no questions
Salome dancing on my wall
And the shadows on the floor
Look so warm from here
I've seen it all before
Just one little lie
But the difference is this
It meant the world to me
Don't ask me no questions
"Take the wheel" she said "as I wander"
We could leave this town
I've got all I need: spirit, hope and joy
But no one knows me
I think I lost my pills
Guess I'll take my chances
I'm looking at the telephone
But nothing happens
I am well aware
That the morning is near
Put the radio down
Don't ask me no questions

Watching bad TV
Eating ice cream straight out of the carton
Taking breaks to
Listen to the Weakerthans and
Make dip pen ink sketches
What has my life come to?

We're the middle children of history....
We have no Great War, no Great Depression.
Our great war is a spiritual war.
Our great depression is our lives.

rushed back from the ass end of nowhere

which is full of hippies who are condescending while trying to be inclusive. Elias had a minor freak when it came time to set up tents, so he decided to peace and I joined him. I'm sorry not to have been there for Christopher, but we had an excellent time.
We went on a completely aimless drive to who knows where through Vermont. Waded in an excellent mountain stream (cold and lovely), then drove more. Pretty pretty countryside. Ended up camping in a very nice state park. Two fire spinners+ wet wood does not= cooked hot dogs. We got the fire going, but not for long. In the end, we bummed fire from neighbors with a propane torch and got delicious dinner. Hot dogs and wine and uncooked s'mores and card games and glow poi. Also, much snuggling in tents and avoiding the rain. Glorious sleep to make up for what we missed in the FORCED MARCH ART PARTY where I made 50 3"x3" paintings in about 12 hours over the course of a day and a half (in addition to other things, like packing, driving to Vermont, watching Firefly and dramatic reading aloud of the rules for the weekend- which basically said Felicia is not welcome, leading to my own freak out. le sigh). So hard. But I recommend forced march art to everyone, it was a brilliant creative excercise.
Ended up racing home because I had to be at bartending class tomorrow, only to find that it was resceduled for next week. Fmylife.
Net net: Forced march art= good. Aimless, technologyless life with Elias= good. I may go to Canada with him in a few weeks, which would be nice, but I don't want to miss the Shiva Rave and I don't want to keep chaging our plan. Even if the plan is no plan, let just do it already.

70+ gifts

Which I will bake/paint/create tomorrow.
Much jumping in lakes, trying to stand up on inner tubes.
Time with friends, delicious food, insufficient sleep.
A club that played the Spring Break Fuck Yeah Bitches song.
Planning the future, then scrapping the plans.