today I felt inspired

Some days I just have this creative energy in me. I guess you could call it my muse. And when it takes over I enter this lovely state of activity, where I write and cut and glue and paint and just forget about everything around me.
After that my desk always looks like this:

My dad is a big believer in a clean and prim desk, with nothing on it but the essentials, but I desperately need my creative clutter. It inspires me to see these things that I love around me, to read memos and see pictures that move me or make me laugh.
You can see that tendency everywhere in my room. I'm a packrat....

the way we get by

Life is hard, man. I've been barely surviving on a minimum of three cups of coffee each day lately and it's getting worse. Soon I'll need like a bucket of coffee next to me at all times or maybe I'll just skip straight to the IV drip and renting a room in the nearest starbucks... or space under the counter of the nearest starbucks. Really I just need one of those armchairs and I'd be set.



I think making people work 8 hours a day is inhumane. I'm so used to high school... yeah, you have to get up early, but think about it, you're also done by three pm and have the whole afternoon to go on teenage antics and emo soul searches. That's the life, people, and the world doesn't even know it.
Now I'm commuting 40 Minutes each way to my unpaid internship and working at least 8 hours each day. When am I going to contemplate the meaning of the world and frustatedly paint my nails black, huh? That's right, any time during the half hour between getting home, eating dinner and falling asleep on a nondescript object.(or the floor. I've stopped being picky)
Not to mention socializing. My friends have the annoying habit of living in a time zone at least 6 hours behind mine... so yeah, that means more coffee. and more and more and soon I'll be such a caffeine nut that even the last couple months of IB hell (during which I stayed up only because I ignored the warning lable on monster drinks) will seem like the softcore version of 'the sound of music' or something.

Sigh. Cup three is sitting emptied next to me and I've been sitting here attempting to cut a segment for tonights show for the last three hours. Maybe totay will be the day that I become a 4 cup girl. maybe I should just get one of those backpacks that marathon runners wear to stay hydrated and fill it with coffee...
anyways, it's back to work for me now, arriverderci or however you spell goodbye in italian

red fingernails

 

Red Nails are a wonderful and fulfillingly girly thing.
And despite what my mom says about it, I kind of love it when bits of color start chipping off.
There's this beauty to it that I always stretch out until the last moment when, in an effort to at least try to convince people of my professionalism, I have to switch back to a sad, neutral, unchipped color.
Sigh... good bye red nails, at least for now ;D

No problemo muchachooo

So I realized I don’t have a problem.
I think that’s something we really need to bring to our own attention more often. I mean, it’s always ugh I hate this, I hate that, but in the grand total scheme of things, do we really have a problem? No. Maybe we even like hating those things.
What with moving and all that going on in my life I spent way too much time thinking I was miserable. But I needed to be miserable. Most of the time I wanted to be miserable. Man, I was mourning my old life, trying to hold on to the remnants of it. That’s fucking dark and deserves a proper period of depression, in my humble opinion. And it soothed my soul to just go rampant with sadness and question the universe and all that.
At times we just need to be put in a situation that makes us question everything. When we sit there sobbing and wet with tears at the end of it all, the happiness and relief will be so much more real. Sometimes I even think we can’t be happy without the ordeal – it might be something we really have to work for, to fight for with ourselves.
So now I’m sitting here, still in my parents’ house, still in this goddamn town I never wanted to return to and I don’t care. I don’t have a problem. It sounds crazy, I know. But I really don’t have a problem. I don’t know how that happened. I don’t know what magical occurrence made me come to terms with my situation. All I know is that I don’t have to like this place or these people or anything at all for that matter. I mean, lately I really don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m unhappy. In fact I’m very happy to let myself feel whatever I’m feeling, no matter what. It makes me feel really really effing free. I don’t have to be happy on other people’s terms, I just have to be happy on mine.