I really wsih I had the space to paint
Really though.
. Explaining to you the sheer frustration I have when there is no room to do anything that might involve a mess or cleanup of any kind is terribly difficult. I am suffocated hre sometimes because of this... incessant cleanliness. I mean not that I am one to "judge" cleanliness, order or organization for that matter, but I am left with nowhere in my home that I can leave a drop of even the cleanest most paintiest free water, let alone inks and paints and dyes, and string, and feather, and bone, and whatever other media may tickle my pallette at the current moment. Even my music suffers because of this. The spaces that were meant purely for nothing but music and the creation thereof are filled with papers and junk and stored crap that none of us want or need. And I keep hearing Him say the same fucking god damned thing over and over again "We really need to get on top of this garage." Which tickles me, because "we" do not need to do anything. he needs to get his shit out or in or gone, or something.
And so... i am frustrated. i always look back in a year at the way I spoke the year vefore and i hate myself and everything that i was or am, or....... whatever.
My red haired lovers image crisis is reminding me of my own dissatisfaction with my wardrobe. Quite depressing really, soo many items of clothing and really nothing at all to wear.
Goodnight, sleep well
-Dani
. Explaining to you the sheer frustration I have when there is no room to do anything that might involve a mess or cleanup of any kind is terribly difficult. I am suffocated hre sometimes because of this... incessant cleanliness. I mean not that I am one to "judge" cleanliness, order or organization for that matter, but I am left with nowhere in my home that I can leave a drop of even the cleanest most paintiest free water, let alone inks and paints and dyes, and string, and feather, and bone, and whatever other media may tickle my pallette at the current moment. Even my music suffers because of this. The spaces that were meant purely for nothing but music and the creation thereof are filled with papers and junk and stored crap that none of us want or need. And I keep hearing Him say the same fucking god damned thing over and over again "We really need to get on top of this garage." Which tickles me, because "we" do not need to do anything. he needs to get his shit out or in or gone, or something.
And so... i am frustrated. i always look back in a year at the way I spoke the year vefore and i hate myself and everything that i was or am, or....... whatever.
My red haired lovers image crisis is reminding me of my own dissatisfaction with my wardrobe. Quite depressing really, soo many items of clothing and really nothing at all to wear.
Goodnight, sleep well
-Dani