Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 121 I have an awful habit of beating myself up about everything. Living at home, fucking my perfectly good life up, smoking, not eating enough veggies, not going out for walks, not changing the oil in my car, taking so much time off from painting, being so taken over with moments, not finishing school, not looking for another job, lying to myself, not doing my laundry last night, spending 20 dollars on a hair cut, not eating breakfast, not running outside to check the dog�s water, sitting here writing this. The biggest thing I beat myself up over is the fact that I�m not planning. I�ve got no plan. At all. No planning equates to no future, in my book and probably in the book everyone else is reading too. And as I was sitting in my bathroom, flicking ash into the toilet bowl, I remembered that every plan I�ve ever had has turned into something else, and that something else has always been some grand adventure. When I picked everything up on a whim and moved back to California, I planned on going to art school. Instead, I had the coolest, most exciting three and a half years of my life to date. But I fell down before that happened, I lived with my dad for a month and spent three months unemployed. I lost everything. Every bit of furniture was gone, my easel, my cats, and then eventually my car. So I had built up my own tiny empire, complete with bed and matching dresser and night stand. I got a cat, and a boyfriend, and a roommate. I had fun every single weekend, I loved my job, I loved the people I worked with, I loved myself. In fact, I loved myself so much, I decided to put my life on the table, take a flying leap into faith, and quit my job to �make art� full time, all of this with the plan that if it didn�t work, I could easily find a job in a dotcom. Then the dotcoms folded. And, again, I put everything in a car and drove. Here I am, having fell down again, except this time I�ve still got my cat and my furniture. In that I see that I�ve become better at fucking up. I at least had a mini saftey net there. . . . The Art Institute of Chicago called. All I can think of is, Blackhawks, Cubs, and City. I�ve always wanted to go to the Windy City. . . . For about a year and half I�ve felt exactly like this. Then this morning, after I read it coming from someone else, I decided I owed myself that year and 6 months, because goddamn it if I spent the entire time waiting. But then, I remembered the only person I�ve ever lived for was myself, and I haven�t been waiting. I�ve been hoping that I was waiting. I have taken every chance given to me, I have run to what ever place was calling me. I�ve done a good job with my life. Even if I have a marriage hanging around my neck, and student loans like chains around my ankles. I�ve sacrificed nothing, and passed on nothing I didn�t want to do. Last night the rum killed off the last of that bullshit. The last of my own misconceptions about what I�ve done with my life. I�ve always been my own worst enemy. Yesterday, that ended, though I�ll probably visit it often, it�s not going to take over my breath anymore. Today, I will paint for myself, and I will sing in the car for myself, and I will be happy with this time alone because really, I�m pretty fucking cool. edited @ 9:45 am - The next time you are blessed with the chance to take the turn in the road, ask yourself Why not? instead of Why should I? 9:04 a.m. - 2002-11-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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