The weekend.
28/29 January, 2006 2am
I am lost. I admit it freely. I’m just wanting and waiting. I’m a magpie and too many shiny things are pulling my attention. The Museum of Russian Art was beautiful. I would love to work there. I’m so grateful ceilingsarecool joined me. As I wandered around, being a bit early for our meeting, a gentleman told me that he’d been to the Rijks Museum in Amsterdam. He declared that the collection at this museum rivals it, if not surpasses it. It was shocking and mysterious that a museum featuring Russian Art showed up here. Apparently there’s a gallery in Iowa somewhere that features beautiful Polish art. Why Iowa instead of Chicago, where there’s a huge Polish population? Who knows? I’m grateful, though. And I’m considering volunteering there. It would be nice to get a foot in the art world. I love the idea of helping people. Art is also one of my loves, though. The visit makes me want to draw and paint again. I love hanging with ceilingsarecool. She's like taking a trip to Camp NaughtyBadFun where you can say and do what you will. I filled out the application to volunteer. I think if they call back I'll have to make time to do it. Need more beauty in my life. I'm considering placing a craigslist ad for a male muse who'll sit still for an hour and let me draw him for a few bucks an hour. I think it'd be worth the investment just for the release I get from drawing. And it's always nice to have an excuse to stare at people directly rather than sideways.
Before this excursion, I received a call from a guy who manages a sandwich shop. He offered me an opportunity for a weekend job I’d applied for ages ago. Eric doesn’t think I should take it. He feels that my weekends should be sacred, even if we’re broke a lot of the time. I’m inclined to agree. He hates to see me tired and stressed out. It might be a bit rough working full time and then getting up and working on Saturdays as well. But I’ve got to figure out a way to get more money coming in. I may call him and take it for a month or so until we catch up on things --or get ahead. Then I’ll let it go. If nothing else it’s cheap food. He's in tomorrow, so I'll call him and see if the job is still available. I guess I'm just going to apply for everything, try out everything and see what happens.
One of Eric’s thought-circles -- thought-circles sounding less condescending than ‘delusions’ - is that everyone is part of the CIA. This isn’t uncommon. I think I prefer this to, say, his thinking he’s Jesus. It’s just a big, all-encompassing catch-all that puts things in place for him. I don’t play into it, but I don’t humor him, either.
“If I were in the CIA, I’d have insurance, Eric. And I’d certainly make more than I’m making now.”
Most times it amuses me. It’s a barometer for how he’s doing. If he gets really insistent about it, I know he’s in trouble. It’s just a way to explain why his family doesn’t call him: they’re with the CIA and don’t want to taint the findings of those who are watching. Some of the twists of logic are actually sad and beautiful. The CIA doesn’t want regular people to be infected by his thoughts. He thinks he’s affected by his family’s and the CIA’s thoughts. I don’t think my thoughts are anymore appetizing to the general public. And we all have our fallbacks. Mine is that I'm too fat and short and ugly. I know it's not true, but if I'm too busy or discouraged to find the 'real' reasons for things, that's my fallback.
He has a thing about rhymes, Eric does. He loves rhymes, but rhymes and homonyms sometimes confuse him. I follow all that most of the time. He showed me some drawings he did as a child. We laughed out loud last night because we were reminded that he loved puns even as a child. First Blood came on at 1am. He has a cute drawing he did as a child. It's a drawing of a piglet with a machine gun and a bandana tied around it’s head, “Hambo: First Mud”. Maybe we were both just punchy because of the hour, but watching the credits roll up I was laughing hard enough that I was afraid the neighbors would wake.
I’m so tired. I don’t have a thing else to say. Must be the CIA. Damn them. Here’s a poem for you. I just pulled it out of my ass:
Candle wicks and aftershocks
Waking up empty-handed after dreaming
Of a glowing heat and
Taking the waking slap and tickle,
Taking the needles of sunrays piercing
Through eyelids
Baby sick and cinder blocks
Making noises, soft undulating weary
A lowing bleat
Baying with the sun, the sound
Baying with the knowledge, fearing
What comes after this
I’ve a soft heart
But softness doesn’t sell anymore
And it certainly doesn’t lead to
Some kind of bliss
I’ve a soft heart
But it lets make flesh, make manifest
Solid and hard the contents of
This one wish…
Abraham Lincoln suffered from depression. There’s a new biography about him. I’ve never read up on him before. Maybe he’ll be my new favorite President. No Zolft, no Paxil and no Prozac. He rode the ride ‘til the end, though it was premature. And he did it bareback. I think that’s how I’m gonna do it. I’m not in denial. I’m gonna let the brain I’ve been dealt inform my dealings with others. We’ll see if I can power through it and actually get something done.
I’m thinking of you, mysticblushadow. My best wishes for your health. You take care of yourself, too, damncutekitty. Pamper yourself, as you deserve it. I know you’ll make it through and you’ll know that even though you run into many who’ve got no clue how to deal honestly with others, that makes you all the more special in that you try to deal fairly with people. My prayers to your auntie, too, mochasobsession. I hope you had a fun weekend at your own personal Camp NaughtyBadFun, recumbentgoat *wink* This journal’s the tool that lead me to meet you, but I realize you’re all more than words on a screen. Take care, my people!
I am lost. I admit it freely. I’m just wanting and waiting. I’m a magpie and too many shiny things are pulling my attention. The Museum of Russian Art was beautiful. I would love to work there. I’m so grateful ceilingsarecool joined me. As I wandered around, being a bit early for our meeting, a gentleman told me that he’d been to the Rijks Museum in Amsterdam. He declared that the collection at this museum rivals it, if not surpasses it. It was shocking and mysterious that a museum featuring Russian Art showed up here. Apparently there’s a gallery in Iowa somewhere that features beautiful Polish art. Why Iowa instead of Chicago, where there’s a huge Polish population? Who knows? I’m grateful, though. And I’m considering volunteering there. It would be nice to get a foot in the art world. I love the idea of helping people. Art is also one of my loves, though. The visit makes me want to draw and paint again. I love hanging with ceilingsarecool. She's like taking a trip to Camp NaughtyBadFun where you can say and do what you will. I filled out the application to volunteer. I think if they call back I'll have to make time to do it. Need more beauty in my life. I'm considering placing a craigslist ad for a male muse who'll sit still for an hour and let me draw him for a few bucks an hour. I think it'd be worth the investment just for the release I get from drawing. And it's always nice to have an excuse to stare at people directly rather than sideways.
Before this excursion, I received a call from a guy who manages a sandwich shop. He offered me an opportunity for a weekend job I’d applied for ages ago. Eric doesn’t think I should take it. He feels that my weekends should be sacred, even if we’re broke a lot of the time. I’m inclined to agree. He hates to see me tired and stressed out. It might be a bit rough working full time and then getting up and working on Saturdays as well. But I’ve got to figure out a way to get more money coming in. I may call him and take it for a month or so until we catch up on things --or get ahead. Then I’ll let it go. If nothing else it’s cheap food. He's in tomorrow, so I'll call him and see if the job is still available. I guess I'm just going to apply for everything, try out everything and see what happens.
One of Eric’s thought-circles -- thought-circles sounding less condescending than ‘delusions’ - is that everyone is part of the CIA. This isn’t uncommon. I think I prefer this to, say, his thinking he’s Jesus. It’s just a big, all-encompassing catch-all that puts things in place for him. I don’t play into it, but I don’t humor him, either.
“If I were in the CIA, I’d have insurance, Eric. And I’d certainly make more than I’m making now.”
Most times it amuses me. It’s a barometer for how he’s doing. If he gets really insistent about it, I know he’s in trouble. It’s just a way to explain why his family doesn’t call him: they’re with the CIA and don’t want to taint the findings of those who are watching. Some of the twists of logic are actually sad and beautiful. The CIA doesn’t want regular people to be infected by his thoughts. He thinks he’s affected by his family’s and the CIA’s thoughts. I don’t think my thoughts are anymore appetizing to the general public. And we all have our fallbacks. Mine is that I'm too fat and short and ugly. I know it's not true, but if I'm too busy or discouraged to find the 'real' reasons for things, that's my fallback.
He has a thing about rhymes, Eric does. He loves rhymes, but rhymes and homonyms sometimes confuse him. I follow all that most of the time. He showed me some drawings he did as a child. We laughed out loud last night because we were reminded that he loved puns even as a child. First Blood came on at 1am. He has a cute drawing he did as a child. It's a drawing of a piglet with a machine gun and a bandana tied around it’s head, “Hambo: First Mud”. Maybe we were both just punchy because of the hour, but watching the credits roll up I was laughing hard enough that I was afraid the neighbors would wake.
I’m so tired. I don’t have a thing else to say. Must be the CIA. Damn them. Here’s a poem for you. I just pulled it out of my ass:
Candle wicks and aftershocks
Waking up empty-handed after dreaming
Of a glowing heat and
Taking the waking slap and tickle,
Taking the needles of sunrays piercing
Through eyelids
Baby sick and cinder blocks
Making noises, soft undulating weary
A lowing bleat
Baying with the sun, the sound
Baying with the knowledge, fearing
What comes after this
I’ve a soft heart
But softness doesn’t sell anymore
And it certainly doesn’t lead to
Some kind of bliss
I’ve a soft heart
But it lets make flesh, make manifest
Solid and hard the contents of
This one wish…
Abraham Lincoln suffered from depression. There’s a new biography about him. I’ve never read up on him before. Maybe he’ll be my new favorite President. No Zolft, no Paxil and no Prozac. He rode the ride ‘til the end, though it was premature. And he did it bareback. I think that’s how I’m gonna do it. I’m not in denial. I’m gonna let the brain I’ve been dealt inform my dealings with others. We’ll see if I can power through it and actually get something done.
I’m thinking of you, mysticblushadow. My best wishes for your health. You take care of yourself, too, damncutekitty. Pamper yourself, as you deserve it. I know you’ll make it through and you’ll know that even though you run into many who’ve got no clue how to deal honestly with others, that makes you all the more special in that you try to deal fairly with people. My prayers to your auntie, too, mochasobsession. I hope you had a fun weekend at your own personal Camp NaughtyBadFun, recumbentgoat *wink* This journal’s the tool that lead me to meet you, but I realize you’re all more than words on a screen. Take care, my people!