H is for Hope

That is major-dude frustration, as defined by the DSM-V. I learned that in my abnormal psychology class at ab-t. I sat down a few hours ago with the intention of finding a job. That may have been my first mistake. If I have learned anything, finding almost any job does not begin by sitting down for a few hours. I am tired. I love most things that I do, most things that have no monetary compensation- but today, I am tired of it. Can I just admit that? Usually I am at least able to find amusement in my complaints, as with Swan, surely I am learning invaluable life lessons in interpersonal or extra-terrestrial relationships. I just never thought I’d be here, at this place of searching for a job… in public schools?!? The level of non-opportunity has me looking at teacher assistant/bus driver positions thinking, “aww, they’d never hire me.” Not to knock down on the t.a.b.d’s out there, they are essential! But art teachers? I spent 4 long hellish years working in public schools getting to a point where I honestly thought I could teach students something about creativity in one 50 minute period a week. Many people I know remember at least one thing about their art teacher and it is usually how they told them they couldn’t draw a stick figure. That is an unfair generalization but fuel for my fire in that I am not that teacher! whatever- i love innovation and creating, but today i just want some established something that doesn’t need flyers posted all over town to market itself and includes health benefits.
blogging could be good for me, but possibly not any readers? My bitching soap-box? I may use that as the title of my painting.
i feel better.

It’s cold, and I just stepped in water from my leaking refrigerator with my socks, for the second time. My socks had actually just dried because I am resting them, feet and all, directly on my radiator which apparently emits heat for up to 4 inches away. I live in a big cold house that is beautiful and I shouldn’t complain about at all. It just needs to be energy efficient-ized because I’m pretty sure there must be heat radiating from the exterior for all the leaky doors and windows. On a cold night like tonight, maybe there is a beautiful orange aura like a halo to be seen from afar. I am a “northerner”, specifically a “midwesterner” and should be used to the cold. But western oops. Western North Carolina is a very confusing climate to me. A few days ago, forgetting the calendar date, I was sure it was spring. I even have blooms coming up in the garden. I don’t know what they are, but they are green and they have arrived. I struggle with my desire for warm weather. It is like many struggles in my life- to live consciously, eat organic, hate global warming VS. over-indulging and wanting to be warm. Being grateful vs. being a whiney ass.
Apparently I missed out on quite the Asheville scene this weekend. I dog/cat/bird-sat for my mother. Ten animals in a three-room, no door space. It was incredibly peaceful until it was too COLD to go outside and I got cabin fever with three dogs, three cats and four birds, one of which I almost set free. There shall be other wild weekends and the good part is I was inspired to sketch out a really huge canvas that has intimidated the hell out of me since I bought it. I love art supplies, so much so that sometimes I am afraid to use them. I forget the exact measurements and have a mental block at guesstimating space with any precision- but this canvas is bigger than me. (And I’m 5′2″ on a good day.) I am always worried about my content in art. I have heard it said in writing, “write what you know”. I’m trying to think of a parallel of that for visual art and have decided, that at least, in a block, fuck that and just write, just paint, just create. Intellectualize it after the fact, if at all- it’s all already working together.
I often have spells of intense inspiration but rarely act on them. Or give the project about fifteen hours of my life and move on. But I’m learning. I took a somewhat crazy spell one week ago and started tearing the wallpaper off (pre-meditated as in within the year, not that day) and opened up Pandora’s box. That is one project I’ve already put my max on and still have steam. That could be due to the motivational high that comes with sanding lead paint. Who knows.

I have trouble letting things go. This may be why I am one of the busiest unemployed people I know. Actually, most people I know are gainfully employed- in a socially motivated field or otherwise. I am off to a meeting at a place I “quit working” on January 4th. I agreed to stay until the end of January, so she could find someone to replace me and on January 31st she couldn’t believe I was really leaving and thought maybe she better put an ad in the paper. In the first week, there were forty responses- to my job, which for a small town is telling about the opportuntities available in the art market. ‘Artist-in-Residence’ = ‘Soul-on-Indefinate-Lend”, at least in this case.

Many sentences these days are starting with If I were… I’m having a pre-30 internal conflict so I decided to start a blog. I haven’t blogged yet for a couple of reasons- 1. I thought, “really, I should just write in a journal.” But, I didn’t. 2. I am intimidated by the innate humor and raw honesty of what seems to be the ‘natural blogger’. My cat just stepped across the keyboard and highlighted the last two sentences- and since it didn’t delete I’m taking that as a sign of a promising future in blogging, rather than a reason to slowly walk away without saving. There are no boundaries in this house. I also worry that I may drink too much, like I do sometimes and write horrific shallow desires of my id that go largely unnoticed in my day to day. Or perhaps this will be a good thing, a note to self- a reminder you are only as big as your smallest observation, or something like that.
So here is the true story of why I felt I had to write: My favorite blogger, Suzanne, was in town last weekend and got on my computer, went to friendster and was already logged on- I rarely visit unless to read her blog and somehow my computer hijacked her identity and logged itself in. It is bizarre and so I had to reclaim my friendster identity, or at least create one for myself as obviously this machine is pining for one?!