Another crushed butt...
If you're wondering what I've been doing since my last entry, I have a minute to tell y'all...
I was Working.
Yup. Basically the whole time.
I've worked pretty consistently since I was 15, which is getting further away from now them I'm comfortable with. I'm used to working, and I'm used to working hard. I'm used to trying to do a good job.
But boy, I've never worked like this.
I've gotta say, it should be feeling really good to be through the supposed hardest part, but honestly, I don't think I'm so good at handling this.
I'm worn out, and intimidated, and scared, and lonely. So far everything has been happening as great as anyone could have hoped, almost a Best Case Scenario in the Big Picture, business-wise.
But maybe I'm not good enough at this. I don't mean the pictures...I think I'm good enough at the photography. I think I have room to mature, and no one is ever 100% awesome on every single shoot, but I hold my own. It was scary to have clients come in who had been photographed for years by the awesome Ubermoms that run the company and started out asking repeatedly if I was as good as them, to which the only thing you can do is Confidently Say With a Totally Cool Straight face, Hell Yeah. And then desperately hope that you are. Which I was. I had 'em in tears at the beauty of their children.
Boo-yah.
But I'm awkward. I'm out of my element. I'm wierd and I stand out. I'm in high school all over again. You can see the toll of the last year on my body and this place leaves that "You never have a second chance to make a first impression" taste in my mouth. I had somebody say to me, in all seriousness, "Come on, really, how rich do you really have to be to have a Rolls Royce?" This, because her gardener marvelled at hers. This, after she mentioned how she was having 88 dogs and 36 humans (those aren't the exact numbers, but she was that specific and the dog:human proportion is right) over that very night for a CATERED party, despite her doctor's specific orders that she go immediately to bed that very afternoon because she was apparently very busy dying. Her justification for ignoring his orders - he had ordered her to go "directly upstairs to bed." She said her home was only one floor and therefore the doctor's advice was ridiculous. She had three shiz tzus.."two very fat, one normal". I had to repeatedly say Shiz Tzu with a straight face. You KNOW how hard that would be for me.
You can't make this shit up.
I feel like I'm sometimes looking at people the same was you would if they were, say, rubbing their sh*t-covered *ss on the wallpaper. Why would you DO that??
I look like I look when I'm working too hard. Y'all know what that looks like. Dark circles under my eyes. Breaking out like I'm trying to get featured on Ripley's. Fat. Exactly the opposite of all these goddamn adorable tiny dynamic Amazonian Superchicks with Brains Too and Hearts of Gold. I actually have people give me that full once-over up-and-down eye thing. Yikes.
Where are the nerds? The painters? The actors and friendly wierdos. Why do only two pairs of my pants fit? Why does nobody know how the hell to make a pizza around here?
Several women have stopped just short of accusing me of using models for the photos on the walls.
The person I see around work who I identify with the most is the smelly but nice nomadic guy who comes by and offers to clean the glass front of my studio and refuses to take half the money I give him. I think his name is Peter but he looks just like our friend Ryan (except he smells like a guy who lives on a bike) so I can't help but think of him as The Guy Who Is Not Ryan.
So, anyway, thanks to those of you who posted during my absence, because my thrice-weekly quick-lurk check-in on LJ made me feel like I had reached and touched somebody, dammit. Leewit, I rarely know exactly what you're talking about but it's always beautiful. Fishchick, I know that somewhere, someone is gnawing on some Plath for me, and boy, some days that's so appropriate it makes me cry. It also doesn't hurt that somebody else has a highlight of the day that probably had you similtaniously being drooled on, or singing a song with lyrics you are making up as you go. Loudly. Cmdroverbite, you've been most of my newsfeed, and I'm ashamed that I didn't get to buy you a water buffalo. Are you going to be consistently shilling for villages, or maybe just repeating this next year? Evaunit00, your sweet hookups and your fellow Loud Ass sweet little car, along with your Team Skittle Racing Captain pictorial gave my little windows into the World of L_J_E...and your questions always got me thinking even if I couldn't post the three pages I came up with for every question. (Noticed I'm loquacious? I'll devour your friends page.) sittingonsstars...I repeatedly see you in 3-D when I go through my photoboxes, and it never ceases to amaze me. Keep the pictures of the Fabulous Miss A. comin'.
I'm doing a horrible job of being a better person. But y'all are keeping me rolling from afar until I can get around to it. I'll be doing theraputic crafts, stocking up on fruit and whole grains, and running miles until I recover from this slump. I should be thrilled, psyched, excited! Why does that statement make me so angry? (Cause I'm not, Dammit! shouts my brain. So, I'm jealous of myself? Real sane.)
Man really can't live by bread alone. Except replace man with Batsh*t Crazy Youngish Woman and bread with Running Successful New Swanky Studio.
I want to go alone to NYC or meet somebody there I know and have some fun, but I'm always afraid I'll get lost or lose all my money or spend three hours waiting for a train that never comes or something. I have to go tomorrow but for the standard Family Thing which is never relaxing for me. Nothing makes me a nervous as having to Be Cool at work, unless its having to be Likable at family events. Faimly stuff is always on a holiday, right after I've worked extra hours and I would love to spend the three days getting things done around the house and painting and sculpting and walking and watching one of my zillions of wierd DVDs that got smiles out of the clerks when I purchased them.
Anyway, I've ceased making sense, if I was making it to begin with. I still intend to get to my list, and to some of evaunit's questions. Someday.
-K
*signing off and heading for the tub*
Peaches, 10 points for ref ID. ^
I was Working.
Yup. Basically the whole time.
I've worked pretty consistently since I was 15, which is getting further away from now them I'm comfortable with. I'm used to working, and I'm used to working hard. I'm used to trying to do a good job.
But boy, I've never worked like this.
I've gotta say, it should be feeling really good to be through the supposed hardest part, but honestly, I don't think I'm so good at handling this.
I'm worn out, and intimidated, and scared, and lonely. So far everything has been happening as great as anyone could have hoped, almost a Best Case Scenario in the Big Picture, business-wise.
But maybe I'm not good enough at this. I don't mean the pictures...I think I'm good enough at the photography. I think I have room to mature, and no one is ever 100% awesome on every single shoot, but I hold my own. It was scary to have clients come in who had been photographed for years by the awesome Ubermoms that run the company and started out asking repeatedly if I was as good as them, to which the only thing you can do is Confidently Say With a Totally Cool Straight face, Hell Yeah. And then desperately hope that you are. Which I was. I had 'em in tears at the beauty of their children.
Boo-yah.
But I'm awkward. I'm out of my element. I'm wierd and I stand out. I'm in high school all over again. You can see the toll of the last year on my body and this place leaves that "You never have a second chance to make a first impression" taste in my mouth. I had somebody say to me, in all seriousness, "Come on, really, how rich do you really have to be to have a Rolls Royce?" This, because her gardener marvelled at hers. This, after she mentioned how she was having 88 dogs and 36 humans (those aren't the exact numbers, but she was that specific and the dog:human proportion is right) over that very night for a CATERED party, despite her doctor's specific orders that she go immediately to bed that very afternoon because she was apparently very busy dying. Her justification for ignoring his orders - he had ordered her to go "directly upstairs to bed." She said her home was only one floor and therefore the doctor's advice was ridiculous. She had three shiz tzus.."two very fat, one normal". I had to repeatedly say Shiz Tzu with a straight face. You KNOW how hard that would be for me.
You can't make this shit up.
I feel like I'm sometimes looking at people the same was you would if they were, say, rubbing their sh*t-covered *ss on the wallpaper. Why would you DO that??
I look like I look when I'm working too hard. Y'all know what that looks like. Dark circles under my eyes. Breaking out like I'm trying to get featured on Ripley's. Fat. Exactly the opposite of all these goddamn adorable tiny dynamic Amazonian Superchicks with Brains Too and Hearts of Gold. I actually have people give me that full once-over up-and-down eye thing. Yikes.
Where are the nerds? The painters? The actors and friendly wierdos. Why do only two pairs of my pants fit? Why does nobody know how the hell to make a pizza around here?
Several women have stopped just short of accusing me of using models for the photos on the walls.
The person I see around work who I identify with the most is the smelly but nice nomadic guy who comes by and offers to clean the glass front of my studio and refuses to take half the money I give him. I think his name is Peter but he looks just like our friend Ryan (except he smells like a guy who lives on a bike) so I can't help but think of him as The Guy Who Is Not Ryan.
So, anyway, thanks to those of you who posted during my absence, because my thrice-weekly quick-lurk check-in on LJ made me feel like I had reached and touched somebody, dammit. Leewit, I rarely know exactly what you're talking about but it's always beautiful. Fishchick, I know that somewhere, someone is gnawing on some Plath for me, and boy, some days that's so appropriate it makes me cry. It also doesn't hurt that somebody else has a highlight of the day that probably had you similtaniously being drooled on, or singing a song with lyrics you are making up as you go. Loudly. Cmdroverbite, you've been most of my newsfeed, and I'm ashamed that I didn't get to buy you a water buffalo. Are you going to be consistently shilling for villages, or maybe just repeating this next year? Evaunit00, your sweet hookups and your fellow Loud Ass sweet little car, along with your Team Skittle Racing Captain pictorial gave my little windows into the World of L_J_E...and your questions always got me thinking even if I couldn't post the three pages I came up with for every question. (Noticed I'm loquacious? I'll devour your friends page.) sittingonsstars...I repeatedly see you in 3-D when I go through my photoboxes, and it never ceases to amaze me. Keep the pictures of the Fabulous Miss A. comin'.
I'm doing a horrible job of being a better person. But y'all are keeping me rolling from afar until I can get around to it. I'll be doing theraputic crafts, stocking up on fruit and whole grains, and running miles until I recover from this slump. I should be thrilled, psyched, excited! Why does that statement make me so angry? (Cause I'm not, Dammit! shouts my brain. So, I'm jealous of myself? Real sane.)
Man really can't live by bread alone. Except replace man with Batsh*t Crazy Youngish Woman and bread with Running Successful New Swanky Studio.
I want to go alone to NYC or meet somebody there I know and have some fun, but I'm always afraid I'll get lost or lose all my money or spend three hours waiting for a train that never comes or something. I have to go tomorrow but for the standard Family Thing which is never relaxing for me. Nothing makes me a nervous as having to Be Cool at work, unless its having to be Likable at family events. Faimly stuff is always on a holiday, right after I've worked extra hours and I would love to spend the three days getting things done around the house and painting and sculpting and walking and watching one of my zillions of wierd DVDs that got smiles out of the clerks when I purchased them.
Anyway, I've ceased making sense, if I was making it to begin with. I still intend to get to my list, and to some of evaunit's questions. Someday.
-K
*signing off and heading for the tub*
Peaches, 10 points for ref ID. ^