Progress as a concept can be a coping mechanism for depression. It seems healthy, but it might not be. I find myself obsessively checking blog stats, trying to figure out where I can self-promote, trying to figure out what else I can sell. I tell myself these are all means to my end-goal of Getting Out of Here. Hustle, right? Hustle needs direction, and direction does not come naturally to me. I naturally spin. I’ve sat myself down and we’ve talked about GtFOH (it looks better with the proper acronym) to see if GtFOH is my short-term goal - I don't feel that Annandale is the place I want to die. If GtFOH is the process, what’s the destination? When will we know we’ve achieved the goal, myself asked me. My honest answer is I don’t know. I like to travel, I like to feel things for myself, and I do everything for the story. Stories are better with moving. Also: 1.I like walls and utilities. I know what to do without them, but I like them. 2.I like warm weather, but humidity is not good…
In the middle of a discussion about how a clear mind and a high-functioning network reinforce each other, evidence was delivered on exactly how that works. Message well-received.
I have been so much more productive in the last six months than I have in the past six years. Thirteen years. Not every minute of the last six months has been productive, but enough has happened that I am learning to stop measuring in minutes and I can now measure days. I have a decent overview and can foresee measuring in months very soon.
One path to a clear mind is a clear work-space. Clutter is representative of many things: you are too busy, you are too receptive, you are hiding from something. Building a fort. I'm no hoarder, but I do tend toward hanging on to things that may prove useful later, in the belief that I won't have to waste resources going out to buy a whatever once I figure out what I need. I think my Scots-Irish Ewing genes have handed down this pragmatism w…
Only it didn't *just* happen. It's been marinating. It spoke to me some little time ago - not that long ago - in the middle of a conversation about somebody else's vision. Visions are sneaky like that. They move like electricity, making leaps, and they can shape-shift. They don't necessarily mean the same thing to the same person, or the same thing at the end of their travel as they did when they started. It doesn't matter.
My job as an artist is to convey messages which already exist in time-space, and try to do it as clearly as possible when you don't have access to the language which was the original conveyance. It's my favorite game.
This is done now for the second time, and at the heart of the message is a feather given me by someone else who apparently received the message. Stay tuned, Etsy-friend...our story is leaving the ground.
Today I bought the Coyote a new suit, in the form of a $4.99 thrift store frame. I brought the painting in with me, t…
I just discovered a really good whisky. I'm not even gonna tell you which one because I don't want it to become fashionable and then unavailable. I already can't afford it.
I'm also learning something new about my social drinking habits; I get to play Mycroft this time.
When I was growing up in Michigan, beer was deeply ingrained in the culture. The favorite sport was bar-hopping: driving all night through the back roads, hitting little secluded joints. It can be a dangerous sport, and is probably the basis for the creation of MADD. Good job, MADD Moms, you've done impressive work over the years.
As kids, we drank to get drunk. We started partying as soon as we could convince people to buy for us (that's a separate sport for teenagers.) We thought it was awesome, like big people. My dad always had alcohol in hand; probably the parents of my friends were the same. Alcohol was validated.
We drank because it was cool; we drank because we were bored. Once you do i…
Someone from the periphery of one of my past lives gave me
this picture. I have a fleeting recollection of the moment – I think my brain
was rather empty, or unable to process what I was supposed to be feeling. Here I was, dressed for Graduation from Middle School. I like how the picture is a little bit creepy.
We were living in a Deep East Texas trailer park. Each
trailer was situated on at least one acre of land. Ours was a three-bedroom:
parents and new baby Michael in the master, a room for four boys, and a
room for the four girls. My dad built bunk beds – two sets for each bedroom. There was a connecting bath, like the
Brady Bunch. All the wars you can imagine happened there. The eldest son lived in the camper out back.
In this picture, I’m wearing the graduation dress that was
made for me. One of the school counselors had approached my parents about the
pending ceremony and asked whether she could arrange an outfit for me. She took me to the mall, and we shopped
Our accountant is a wonderful, naturally
supportive person. My empathic sensors (and logic) tell me that she has her own
set of problems but she doesn’t let them get the best of her. She asks me
regularly whether I plan to ride my bike to work on Friday. She shares pictures of
her grandson and tells me about her quilting group. Last week, my Project Get
Over Myself project was bringing some of my paintings into the office and
letting people see them; now I’m flagged (read: outed) as a painter. She sent
me a link to a fine arts festival happening over the weekend.
As usual, I have two points I have to digest. I
dislike the bins people put me in, and I dislike art fairs. I have to get over my knee-jerk when people
stick a pin in me that has a label attached; it’s not as serious as all that
for them, and it also means they find me interesting and are trying to connect.
The thing I want the most is the thing that scares me the most. Accountant is
awesome because she does not try to get me …
I'm nostalgic today. Remember that moment when Yes We Can turned into Yes We Did? We did that.
We elected the first-ever Partly Brown Man to head the United States of America. Our history evolved from systemic oppression to actualization of The American Dream, and then we let it roll back.
I was accused, by friends who self-identify as pro-equality freethinkers, of being racially motivated to vote for Obama. I'll cop to that. I never expected him to be a Magical Politician. I voted for the only Brown Person Non-Good-Ol-Boy to get to the Superbowl in my lifetime, because I could. Because I was sick of the White Patriarchy holding all of us down; not just brown people, all of us. Systemic narcissism hurt me, too, and it still does.
We overcame. And then we stayed home, and the White Patriarchy stood up.
No, this also affects you.
Moneypenny is not just a secretary. She is a bright, forward-thinking young person; she is the future of America. She helps me try to unravel the …
This is something you need to know about me. I am my own law of physics when it comes to dancing. I can't lead, either - I just spin. Okay, maybe it's not just dancing. Yeah, pretty sure it's everything. Having arrived here several times in my life, I am no longer interested in trying to adjust. I'm good with spinning.
Each of us, if we were paying attention, has lived several lifetimes in the skin we now own. Maybe it's better to say we're leasing it - we will give it back. The skin, the bones, everything will ultimately return to ash and dust. No chemicals can stop the process forever. See this map on BBC: we have millions of years to work on it. Nothing is permanent.
Take a few minutes and sort your history - not into chapters, but into the lives you have lived. The easy way is to note each death. Less easy is to realise that each death is followed by a rebirth, messy, painful, embarrassing. Having given birth I can tell you the first one was like that, to…
Last night I worked out some business card designs, because I realise I need them. I've come to that point in the conversation a few times recently, and I had no business card to hand over. So.
My waking thought this morning was that business cards are actually a huge deal. HUGE. They signify that I'm willing to BE IDENTIFIED, not just in the moment, but also later. That I am willing to let select individuals be able to locate me and ask me to do things for them, that I will consider their proposals. I am not only admitting but committing to the Universe and to myself that I will do things. Envoys take what is offered, Takashi.
I have to brand myself, like a tattoo. Unlike a tattoo, I can change my brand later (well, sort of like a tattoo - even there, we have options.) And that's always been one of my pet neuroses: avoiding a label.
I can't stand it when someone asks me, "Are you a ________________?" Writer, artist, poet, chef, dancer was once floated an…
It is hard to dress your kids, send them out the door, put them on the bus, especially when they are your stories and poems. People are going to look at how they're dressed and judge your parental skills. You want to keep them home safe.
Don't do it, though - find a new metaphor. I use Lottery Tickets - it's a gamble.
At some point I had to give myself the credit I want so desperately from others (and sometimes receive.) I am good at things. I can string words together. Ask my daughter - I can tell a story. Her friends still drop into a conversation: "So what's your mom been up to...does she have any stories?" Remind me to tell you about the laundry room some time. That's Alia's favorite.
But submissions, though...this is something you have to do for yourself. You have to do it because once you've sent out that story or painting you bled, sweat, and cried over - once the kid is on the bus - you get to relive all the thrill and trepidation of…