Sketchbook 2011

I've been a bad girl.

I signed up many months ago to participate in the Sketchbook Project through Art House Co-op. I received my sketchbook, full of ideas and excitement. When I went to cement my ideas and realize my creations, I discovered something horrible. I had no art supplies.

You see, last year I attended school in Texas. I moved all my art supplies with me, and even bought some more. When the school year was over, all of my things (art supplies included) were moved to my parent's home in California. I then moved back home to Wisconsin. My belongings were to be shipped to me. They never were.

I have budgeting problems. Whenever I wanted to buy more art supplies, I didn't have money. I usually had spent my money on etsy items and other frivolous things. Self-control has never been my strong suit.

But now, it is Christmas time. And, I am in California. I will be liberating my art supplies from the confines of their moving boxes, and bringing them back to Wisconsin. New art supplies will be joining them (Thank you, Santa).

And once I return to Wisconsin, I shall create!! I am unbelievably excited. I have a few ideas for my sketchbook, and assuredly will think of more over the long flight home. But now, with new brushes, paints, and markers, as well as my wonderful pastels, conte, and charcoal, things will finally come together.

Unfortunately, my sketchbook is due by January 15! I will only have 18 days! Although most of these days are free of any previous obligations, I still worry my own whimsy will draw me away from what I'm supposed to be drawing.

My New Year's Resolution: Make Shit Happen.

Friday Afternoons of Greatness

It's been a wonderful day, which was rather unexpected. Fridays are typically my day off, when I lay around the house lazily, taking snuggle naps with my dog and watching lots of netflix. Today, however, I had several appointments and a final paper to write. Christmas shopping was also on my to-do list. It seemed as though my weekend was going to start off in a rush.

But, after obtaining some funky (part time) glasses, a successful interview, and some quick shopping, I came home for a true WI winter afternoon. I settled in to the living room with a bowl of mac and cheese, Coraline, and a nice fire. It was so lovely, I passed out on my couch. For several hours.

How I love Coraline. I haven't read the book, which is just naughty of me, I know. But it's true, as Mr Gaiman's daughter told him so aptly, "You're never too old for Coraline". It's such a wonderful story, and it makes me wish I could live in a beautiful Victorian home, evil other mothers be damned. And while I do love Coraline, of all the characters, I just love Miss Spink. I too am an outrageous, hip-blessed woman who loves dogs probably a little too much, and could use a busty friend to help me read some tea leaves. Interested? Apply via comment.

Back to the film, fire, and dog snuggles. Have a lovely weekend.

College Creative Death

I don't mean to blog DAILY, but this needed to be discussed, for my own sake, at the very least.

I'm currently watching Amanda Palmer's webcast. She is speaking at Berklee College in Boston. This is yet another time I wish my sister had chosen to attend Berklee, and my family could have afforded it. I would love to be there. I have endless questions for Ms Amanda. Perhaps she could do a college discussion tour. UW-Madison would need to be on her tour. Please and thank you.

Ms Palmer discussed her own difficulties in college. How she was not happy. How it killed her creative drive. How she was constantly at odds with her environment.

I feel like we're taught that college will be the time of your life. That high school is hell and college is your reward for having gone through it. College is your time to live before you get thrown in to some career you're destined to hate, and continue to work through simply for the money.

As a sophomore in college, I feel this isn't true. High school wasn't amazing, but how can it be with all those crappy hormones messing with your mind? But college. It's a whole new ball game. Having always been in environments where you make friends because you're with these people every day and have no other options, going to college is such a culture shock. You don't have these forced groups. You're in classes where you sit and listen, and sometimes sleep, but don't get to know those around you.

My biggest problem: I don't want to get to know those around me. As I sit in class, I listen to the small conversations around me. "I got so drunk last night, I don't think my homework is even in English". "Are you buying the beer tonight?" "I slept with that guy; big mistake!" Honestly, is that as good as it gets? I'm not attending a college for idiots (although I did last year, and the conversations were even worse there), so why are there all these people lacking substance?

You may think I'm being judgmental, and that's fine. I typically am. You may think I'm acting superior, but come on, it's hard not to. I'm 19. I don't drink. I don't party. I'm not a whore. I want friends, but I won't settle for individuals whose social lives revolve around one beverage or another. I don't need booze to be fun. I don't need sex to be happy. Where are all the people like me?

I'm not friends with many people from high school. We've all gone separate ways, and some of them have changed so much I can't even recognize them. Nor do I want to. You know who you are.

College is isolation for me. Admittedly, this could be my own fault. I live off campus, ten miles away. I'm not in the community. But again, with the people I keep meeting, why would I want to?

Most of my friends aren't in college, either by choice, or they've already passed that point in their lives. It's odd. These people seem so much smarter than those I'm surrounded by at school. How is the twenty year old at Journey's smarter than the biotech major at UW Madison?

I recently had a discussion with my father. He works at a prestigious computer company named after a type of fruit, and is revered in his field. He often interviews individuals looking to join the company. He discussed with me one individual who blew his mind. This man attended a prestigious tech college, had work experience at several wonderful companies, and was apparently able to speak several languages. According to my father, this man was one of the dumbest individuals he'd ever met, and could not understand how he even graduated.

This incident lead to the discussion of college. (It all connects!) The job market is so competitive that everyone has to go to college to have a chance. You have to get your masters. But does that mean you're smart? Do you even know what you're doing?

I think I'm off the beaten path, to a point. I'll sum it up: I feel isolated at college because I'm surrounded by idiots who have to go to school just to get some entry level job. My creative drive is drained as I have no social life to gain ideas from.

For someone like me, for someone who feels like they are an artist, college is killing me. Dramatic as it sounds, when you have your main outlet taken away, you become lost. When you are struggling in one area of your life, slowly, other areas become a struggle as well.

I'd love to hear other thoughts. Perhaps I'm mistaken. Perhaps you have the secret to life, to college life, to college artistry, and I would love to know what that secret is.

A Snag in the Fabric

Today is usually one of my free days. I only have one class, so I wake up at a reasonable hour and have the whole day to be productive. Unfortunately, that is never the reality. I think of all the wonderful things I want to do on a Tuesday (walk the dog, work on a drawing, free writing exercises, cleaning, homework), and then end up asleep somewhere. Often times my bed. With winter upon this midwestern state, movement beyond the bed becomes unpleasant due to cold.

Admittedly, I feel bad for the hound. Being a high energy German Shepherd who recently entered into a love affair with snow, being inside with a sleeping mom is never fun. He often times sleeps with me, then slowly starts to annoy me in hopes of a walk or frisbee. Don't worry, he usually wins. He's very persistent. And cute.

But my self-motivated activities are far less nagging. Finally, I did a bit of drawing. Not in my usual style either, which was surprising. This drawing inspired me to revisit my 101:1001 list. If you not possess one, you should. Mine can be found here. I am saddened at my lack of progress, especially on the easier tasks. How I have yet to buy a lottery ticket or complete a coloring book is beyond me.

My list features a lot of learning tasks, adventurous undertakings, and childish antics. Some may consider it odd to find burlesque class, kite flying, and cake decorating all on the same page, but yes, I am some mash-up of a exhibitionist, a child, and a 1950's housewife. Add old British woman, and you have the full package. How these things happen, I do not know.

Even though I have 740 days left to complete all my tasks, I still feel a race against the clock. When will I go sky diving? When will I shave my head? When will I make my own candles?! These are pressing questions of which I am sure we all ask ourselves.

I feel as though my life needs to be made in to list. My health problems have sucked the spontaneity out of my life. I no longer just sit in my basement and paint all day. I start to, but wake up on the orange shag carpeting three hours later with dried acrylic paint in my hair wondering what I was even attempting to work on. It's frustrating. Whenever there is something I would like to do, I need to add it to my daily list, lest I forget.

Who wants to live from lists? I do not want every moment of my life scheduled out to one activity or another. The fun is in the fantastical, and how can anything be fantastical when written in your day planner? "3 pm, Thursday: Make amazing mural." That does not excite me.

I find myself to be too particular. Perhaps I should be grateful that I have the time to do these things, or the will. Perhaps my wish for improvisation is more of an excuse for whimsy. And whimsy, I have more than enough of.

Hopefully, I will soon have an answer to my health problems, so that all the acrylic paint will end up on a canvas, rather than my hair.

Tick Tick Ticker

Today, I had an echocardiogram. For those of you who are unfamiliar, it is essentially an ultrasound of your heart. I do not know when I will receive the results of this test, but hopefully soon. It wasn't a fun experience though. As nice as the technician was, I could have sworn she was going to break through my rib cage and actually get straight to my heart. It was uncomfortable.

In other news, Twitter fight! I'm a very in-your-face sort of person. I will defend someone to the end if I think they are right, or if they obviously need defending. In this instance, it was the former. Amanda Palmer, the incredible musician and artist, made a comment regarding the new TV show "Bridal Plasty" in which brides-to-be compete for plastic surgery before their wedding. One of Ms Palmer's comments was to the effect of "If you're fat, hit the gym. Fucking love yourself for fucks' sake". I am not word for word on that, but likely close.

Of course, someone was offended. Likely several people were, but one person I follow on twitter made it clear just how offended she was: Ms Beth Hommel. She is a member of Ms Palmer's team of assistants. I love her art, and enjoy her witty commentary. Unfortunately, on this particular day, Ms Hommel and I were on opposing sides.

I believe that you can control your body, and appearance. I believe that if you are happy with yourself, no comment can change that. I believe that being PC is ridiculous. I believe that if you are looking for something, whether it be ammo for a fight, personal attacks, unicorns, or Jesus, you're bound to find it somewhere. I don't think any of these beliefs are particularly outlandish, but not everyone must agree. Beth Hommel did not. I suspect she did not understand me very well, as can happen when limited to 140 characters. I will do my very best to explain.

I believe that being overweight is a life style choice. As someone who has struggled with an eating disorder, my body image has not always been a positive one. But the wonderful thing about your body is that you do possess the power to control it, whether than means dying your hair, getting a tattoo, or adjusting your weight. Over the past two years, I have been experiencing health problems that have created challenges for me when it comes to weight. Although I am still at a health weight, I am no longer at my ideal weight. But I have since made the choice to change that, with exercise, an improved diet, and herbal remedies.

I know plenty of individuals who suffer from medical conditions that make gaining or losing weight difficult, but not impossible. Even with health problems, their weight can be changed. I am not saying they should change their weight, just that if they wish to, they have the ability to. And in either direction. If they did choose to change their weight, it might be more challenging, or require different methods, but could still be done.

Each person can choose the way they present themselves, and the way they live. If you choose to live in a thin body, a fat body, a body tattooed entirely blue to appear like a smurf, that is your own choice. But the point is to be happy with it.

If you are happy with yourself, then you are without doubt. You know who you are, and you are the person you want to be. No matter what comments may come your way, and how hurtful they may be, you can take solace in yourself.

I'm not one to take the easy path, especially when it comes to my appearance and how I present myself. When I was 6, I demanded to be Elvira for the halloween party at my Catholic kindergarten. When I was 8, I cut my eyebrows off because I did not like the natural arch they had. When I was 12, I dyed my hair purple. Last year, I had dreadlocks that were burgundy, purple, and hot pink. I'm not conventional. I've been the brunt of many jokes, and been bullied for much of my youth. I was happy with myself. I defended myself, and continued doing what made me happy. I learned that nothing else matters beyond that.

Not everyone is like me, and thank goodness. But I believe the same belief holds true. If you are happy, nothing else matters. Because of this belief, I think it's silly to be PC. It may be trendy, but it is not honest. That is not to say that words like "nigger" or "faggot" are acceptable terms, but rather that comments like "if you are fat, hit the gym" should not be ones which insight duels. Not every word spoken can be filled with rainbows and peace signs and butterflies, and I don't think they should be. Life is art and art is expression.

If a comment like the one Ms Palmer made offends, even though it was not directed at anyone in particular, then they are not happy. They are insecure. They are offended because they have labelled themself in a negative way, but do not wish others to label them similarly. If you feel you are "fat" and not beautiful, do what you need to so that you may become beautiful in your own eyes. Those are the eyes that matter. And once you believe you are beautiful, you won't care what others say.

I hope that I have made some semblance of sense. Even if it isn't agreeable, I hope it is at least understood.

Until another day.

Slow Weekend

In an effort to avoid cleaning, I thought I'd give a quick update.

My family comes to town for Thanksgiving on Tuesday, which means I must clean the house in order to avoid execution. I've decided to put most of the cleaning off until Tuesday afternoon. Perhaps not the wisest choice, but I am not in the mood right now.

I have another doctor's appointment on Wednesday. I've been having more health problems this week and I'm done just living with it. It has been more than mildly unpleasant, so I won't be waiting around anymore.

I'm truly looking forward to the long weekend. Perhaps I will succeed in beginning my art project for the show. Or maybe I'll receive something that will inspire me. Some old friends and I have a traveling art journal, and after a break, it's started up again. I'm currently waiting for it to arrive at my doorstep. I have missed it.

On Wednesday, I saw The Dresden Dolls. I will be sure to post photos soon.

I kept it brief, for once.

Answers and Frustration

On Friday, I received the results of my sleep study. 256 electrodes, 4 naps, and 1 night later, I am no closer to an answer. Most of my test results came back normal, which is on the one hand a good thing, but on the other, I still feel like crap and do not know why or what to do to feel better again. The doctor believes I just need more sleep than most people, and I now have to sleep 10 hours a day. I can return in 3 months for a follow up appointment.

Admittedly, I got emotional. I am not an emotional person. In fact, I'm apathetic to most things. It takes a lot to get an emotional response from me, but this did it. I was so frustrated that after 2 years of testing, of sickness, and struggle, I was back to square one. Actually, I'm further back than square one. At least when this all started, we could brainstorm what it could be. This sleep test was really my last idea.

Although I don't want to be narcoleptic or anything along those lines, because I remain undiagnosed, I cannot become a special student, meaning I will not receive any additional help or modifications to my education. My health problems have taken an incredible toll on my cognitive abilities, and it shows heavily in my school work. As a college student, I cannot afford to be floundering, let alone failing.

I used to have a near photographic memory. Now, I can't tell you what I did 2 hours ago.

I haven't made any art in 6 months. I don't have the energy or the insight. I'm supposed to be working on a piece for an art show, and I haven't even drawn mock-ups. I have a few ideas, but nothing close to a finished product.

Today, I joined a gym. If you know anything at all about me, you'd know that I despise all methods of physical activity. There's a reason my bed is so warm and cozy. There's a reason treadmills are neither. Unfortunately, because of these ongoing health problems, I have to work out. My body aches, my calves are always on the edge of a charlie's horse, I've put on some weight, and I'm beyond weak. If the doctor's can't give me answers, I officially have to start trying to be healthy. Working out included. Eating healthy also included.

I'd honestly rather die.

In order to convince myself to go, I joined the nicest gym in the area. TVs on every machine, huge pool, hot tub, sauna, the works. If I have to be there, I want to at least sort of like being there. I also see many massages in my future.

Now I must clean my house (or pretend to). I feel like I'm not allowed to have any fun this weekend.

Sleep, Don't Weep

Firstly, I want to apologize for the length of my last post. I attempted to warn readers with the title, but I'm sure it was not nearly enough warning. To those of who you who read the whole thing, I am impressed.

Secondly, I have a package of Jesus band aides (which I acquired at the General Store in Spring Green), which is where I got the title for my last blog from. That being said, none of my band aides have baby Jesus on them; just full grown Jesus. Are there band aides that feature the entire cast from the Last Super? I would buy them. I will buy anything sacrilegious.

Now, on to the point.

As mentioned in my last blog (mixed in with a million other things), I was tested for a variety of sleep disorders this past week. It was quite an experience. I truly did not prepare myself properly. Upon arriving, I met the women who would be assisting and monitoring me during my tests. Both were very nice, but did not warn me. How was I to know? Perhaps google, but that is besides that point. If you are going to put glue all over my hair and head, I feel you should tell me first. That's right, glue.

During my EEG, I had to wear a cap of sorts, constructed from 256 electrodes. A gel was then placed under the electrodes so they would make better contact with my dome. I did not know the gel would turn to a firm glue. The next morning, when the test was over, and the cap removed, I was covered in crusty glue and circular indents that made it appear as though I was attacked by an octopus. It took me two days to get all the glue out of my hair and off of my skin (as my head was not the only place the electrodes were).

Here are some photos, as proof:

The test went well beyond the glue though. Everyone was lovely, especially when I would ask if I fell asleep, as that is part of my problem. I will fall asleep, and not entirely realize I was asleep until I see the clock and it's several hours later. The women seemed a bit confused when I'd ask if I'd fallen asleep as they were waking me. I suppose most people would be confused by this. It isn't a normal response, to say the least.

I will receive the results of my test on Friday, and go from there. Although I would love to hear that I'm totally fine, if a bit drowsy, I know that isn't the case. My sleep habits are bizarre, and have taken a critical toll on my daily life, as well as my school work. It's been very difficult for me to function on a typical level, and I'm hoping to receive some good news on Friday. Good news being that there is something happening, but we can fix it.

Until then, I will continue to nap throughout the day, and enjoy my warm bed.

Sweet baby Jesus

It's been too long. I honestly had forgotten, in the midst of my life, that I am meant to be blogging. To who and why remains unknown. In this moment of free time (which replaced attending boring lectures), I will share with you what you've been missing.

On Wednesday, I am being tested for numerous sleep disorders, most of which are notably rare, dangerous, and bizarre. I will be staying overnight at the local sleep clinic, performing a high-density EEG. I will be sure to get photos of myself with wires all over my head. It should prove fun. While I am at the sleep clinic, Nero (the German Shepherd) will be enjoying doggie daycare and a sleep over at the dog kennel I worked at over the summer.

Speaking of Nero, he's been off the wall. Wisconsin weather has been unusual lately: extreme winds, excessive rain, etc. Nero is finicky about the weather. He refuses to go outside for more than a bathroom break if the weather is not to his liking. As a result, he's had too much unused energy and has been getting himself in to trouble, even at daycare. We continue to seek training, but we've reached a bit of an obstacle. Most of the trainers we've been seeing specialize in German Shepherds, particularly Shutzhund (general dog trainers don't seem to like Nero). These Shutzhund trainers feel that, in order to boost Nero's confidence and prevent any potential lawsuits, Nero should be trained to bite. Shutzhund style. Although I do understand the benefits, I simply don't want to do it. Why train a dog to bite when you can train a dog to stay? I continue to research the issue, and remain skeptical.

Remaining on the subject of Nero, he will soon be getting a sister. She's a deaf Pit Bull we found through a rescue in Illinois. Her name is Pebbles, and she's absolutely wonderful. Nero and Pebbles get on so unbelievably well. They're about the same age, but are nothing alike. Nero is almost entirely black, where Pebbles is almost entirely white. Nero is long and lanky, Pebbles is short and stocky. Nero has anxiety, Pebbles is calm and collected. They play so well together, and it's obvious that Pebbles is in charge. She should be moving in around Thanksgiving, if everything works out.

This past weekend was, as you likely know, Halloween! I was particularly over booked. I had work, the Gathering of the Gods event, and the Gogol Bordello show. Luckily, I no longer "work", so things loosened up. I was able to attend the entirety of the Gathering of the Gods event, and oh, was it worth it.

For those of you who do not know, which is likely many, so do not feel left out, the Gathering of the Gods event was a three day festival at the House on the Rock, hosted by Neil Gaiman, in honor of the 10 year anniversary of his novel "American Gods". A certain gent had been begging me to go since the event was announced 6 months prior, and I finally gave in. My attempts to read the novel in time for the event were unsuccessful, but I will return to the task soon.

The event was amazing. On Friday evening, we attended a reading and Q&A by Neil Gaiman. He read an excerpt from "American Gods" as well as a few poems. I cannot express how very much I love the sound of his voice. When he speaks, I instantly relax, and even become a bit drowsy. He's some kind of hypnotist, I swear. His readings were wonderful, but the Q&A session was hysterical. He shared his beliefs on twitter ("twitter: blogging:: crack cocaine: a fine red wine"), and Wisconsin winters ("I've lived here for 18 years, and I'm still confused. WHY are we HERE?"). I haven't laughed so hard in a while.

The next morning, we set out to tackle the scavenger hunt. Dave had stayed up impossibly late solving clues and mapping out our route. I had slept. Fair trade, I say. We drove around Spring Green, Dodgeville, Richland Center, Muscoda, and Gotham, searching for answers, and receiving stamps to prove we'd been successful. Amazingly enough, we completed the whole thing. And yes, I did help. I solved about half.

Saturday evening was the costume contest. Dave and I both put together last minute costumes. He went as the Road, dressed in all black, with white and yellow tape to display road markings. I went as the Queen of Sheba/Bilquis. In "American Gods", this character is a god in disguise as a prostitute. She receives her power, if you will, by being worshipped. In the first chapter, a man worships her "with his body", meaning he is absorbed into her, in a sort of reverse birth technique. I based my costume off of this occurrence. I wore a black top, a large tutu, and hanging from underneath my tutu was the top half of a man (constructed from a pillow). It provided quite a laugh, especially when I did a little humping dance before the judges (namely Neil Gaiman) which made my dangling man flail and shake all over.

Once Dave and I both displayed our costumes, we sought out food. This was when I discovered I had won the scavenger hunt. I was one of 4 selected to ride the world's largest carrousel at the House on the Rock. I was in disbelief. No one rides the carrousel. The creator was the only person to ever ride it, and that was just 6 weeks prior to the event. The winners and their significant others were escorted to the carrousel immediately, where we waited about an hour for the costume contest winners to join us.

The ride was unbelievable. I was assigned to ride the Zebra, which felt a bit ironic to me. Everyone watching cheered for us, and took photos. There should be photos posted on the House on the Rock blog, and once they are up, I will be sure to link them. The carrousel is absolutely magical, no matter if you're on it, or watching it. I felt honored to have had the chance to ride it. I'm still in disbelief.

Once my ride was over, Dave and I met Neil Gaiman. He was watching the winners enjoy their rides, and we wanted to thank him for the amazing weekend. This was when he informed me I had been a finalist for the costume contest. You see, I was escorted to the carrousel before the finalists were announced, therefore missing the whole thing. I could have potentially won 2 rides. I believe my favorite part of the evening was when Neil Gaiman remembered me and my costume. He seemed genuinely sad I had missed the announcement, but was glad to present me with the news personally. What a gent.

It's difficult for me to express how wonderful the Gathering of the Gods event was. I hope it becomes a Halloween tradition so we can attend every year.

On Sunday, we went back to the House on the Rock. We hadn't had time to tour the house, and since our event passes were good for the whole weekend, it seemed the smartest thing to do. That house is nuts. I couldn't live there. I'd be terrified. I think all the kitschy stuff is wonderful, don't get me wrong, but the height...I could not live on a rock that could fall any day. I had a hard time walking through it as I was so worried that it would all fall apart at any moment. Illogical, maybe, but that's how the human race survives.

We also revisited some of the great places in Spring Green. The General Store is so wonderful. It's impossible not to be happy there. The food is also quite good, and they have all sorts of great knick knacks. I bought some humorous Christmas gifts while there. I do think that the gem of Spring Green is the Bird of Paradise. Their pie is amazing. Go for the Bumbleberry. I managed to obtain the last slice, and good lord, no wonder it was almost gone. Best pie I've ever had, and I've had a lot of pie.

Now, you would probably think that concluded the weekend. How could we fit anything else in? Well, we did. Gogol Bordello was playing at the Overture Center. And we went. First of all, the Overture Center is not the right place for a rock concert. Gogol Bordello is all about getting down and dirty, dancing until you die, and getting close to people. The Overture Center does not cater to this. But the band played on, and they were excellent. Lots of dancing, crazy costumes, some arrests for weed. It was pretty entertaining. Watching Barney the Dinosaur get down was my personal favorite.

That concludes my Halloween weekend. And really my life to this point. I'm sure other things have happened, but who knows what.

I hope you all had wonderful weekends, and I promise to post more often.

Brainstorm

I've always wondered what a "brainstorm" looked like. Do neurons fire like lightening? If so, what is the thunder? Or is it more of a tsunami, crashing the shores of my brain with information? That sounds more like a cram session to me. Maybe I will draw a brainstorm. Notice the pretty color? That means I have an idea. How snazzy is that?

I'm currently listening to "Forced (Radio Edit)" by Cagedbaby, which is a person favorite of mine. I'm not sure what it is about this song, but every time I hear it, ideas poor in. Example: I now want to do a piece involving a large, anatomically correct heart, but have it exploding. I'm unsure how I will do this, or where the idea came from, but this song...it gets me every time. I also just got the idea to do a piece involving a horribly mutated king on his thrown, sort of a commentary on inbreeding in the upper class.

I know not all my ideas are genius. But at least I have ideas.

I once received dead roses on Valentine's Day. I know this is an odd statement, since all cut flowers are, by definition, dead, and truly random to throw in during my idea blog, but just stay with me. The roses were withered and brown as a result of the cold weather we'd been having. The gent who sent them to me and I were actually fighting at the time, and I believed the act to have been intentional. I'd like to do a piece capturing the moment where I opened the box of dead roses, and just about killed him. Obviously, it would be abstract. If I wanted a photograph of that moment, I would have taken one.

I don't use my art for catharsis enough. I should. I'm a very angry person, likely because I don't release my frustrations without making someone cry. Not always my proudest moments. I'm working on meditating more often, being more active, and keeping people who make me angry out of my life. But I have some things to work on. I think the rose piece in particular would be a good place to start my cathartic art.

As I create, I will post photos of completed works. This would likely go into Sunday blogs, just to keep things organized.

Oh, and I want to do a piece involving cottonwood seeds. We have tons where I live, and my puppy, Nero, loves to pounce on them. He's sleeping awkwardly next to me, smooshed in a doorway between cabinets that is much too small for a big boy like him. He's always curled up in place that just look uncomfortable. My silly little man.

Anyway

Plans made. Documented. Color coded. Off to be lazy elsewhere.

Your Achiever-in-the-Making

Martha May

Defining the Rules of Photo Journaling

While I have a free moment today (as I'm not feeling well and am avoiding cleaning), I decided I may as well figure out my plans for my photo journal. I realized that, while a photo journal is nice, it could be better! I was inspired by a contest called "Morbid Little Stories" where fans of the "Who Killed Amanda Palmer" book were asked to create their own short story based on a photo from the book. I had a lot of fun with the contest and will turn my photo journal into a similar contest against myself.

My plan is to take a photo, and then write something based off the photo. I find I have a hard time writing unless I have been writing regularly. Admittedly, the start will be rough. I doubt I'll produce much of value, but with time, I'm sure I'll improve.

Here is my schedule of events:

• Monday--Plant photo and poem. I promise not to cop out too often and do a haiku.
• Tuesday--Animal photo and poem.
• Wednesday--Nero (my dog) photo and story from the day. This will probably be my favorite day.
• Thursday--Self portrait and related short story. I'll try to keep short stories under 500 words for easy reading.
• Friday--Ordinary objects photo and related short story.
• Saturday--Open. Depending on what I end up doing on Saturdays, I want to have some options.
• Sunday--Like the story goes, on the 7th day, I rest. Granted, the Jews rest on Saturday, which is technically the 7th day on a calendar. I think Catholics just rest on Sundays to get over the previous night's boozefest and to watch sports. I do plant to blog on Sundays, but that's more my big idea day.

As far as uploading all of this, I know throwing it all up once a week is a lot to read at one time. If I cannot upload daily, I will make sure to every other day, so things don't pile up.

Photo journaling will begin Monday. Be on the look out, and get excited.

Your Achiever-in-the-Making

Martha May

The Beginning

Personally, I think blogging is a bit egotistical. What makes someone so profoundly special that they require a diary online, as that is the main purpose of blogging for common folk? In my mind, the internet is a vast place, likely a result of all the average joe bloggers. I will do my very best not to waste space, or the time of those who may happen to stumble upon this.

My main purpose in life is to create. For someone who is just 18, I've heard it's a bit soon to decide what your life's purpose is, but mine has been pretty obvious. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, as it always can be put into the category of creating. I create art, messes, noise, controversy. Create is a very generous verb in that sense. Unfortunately, all I've been creating lately is a butt print in the couch.

I just moved back home with my younger sister, and find myself a bit unmotivated. Most of my belongings are in CA with my parents, and won't arrive for another month. I do not possess a license, or job, at the moment. My days have revolved around my puppy, Nero, and the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Things need to change. The job hunt is on. Driving lessons are scheduled. But there's more to life, and my needs, than just that.

This blog is the beginning (don't you love it when they use the title in the script?!). I need to get my rump in gear. I made a day zero account not too long ago in hopes that I would be motivated to finish that baby off in a year rather than three. Unfortunately, I plateaued. I lost interest, as I often do. My mind is normally planning and scheming, so once I begin one thing, I think of something else I should also begin. Like road construction, the more things you begin, the less things you get done. Now, I turn to this blog to assist me in achieving not only my day zero goals, but life goals, and feeling that if I sit around in my pajamas all day, the internet will send me many "tsk tsk"s when I am forced to admit it in my blog.

I don't plan to be someone who uses their blog as a diary. I will not be posting "Matilda is such a bitch" and "Can you believe Anne is pregnant?" and "I have such a crush on Rosie O'Donnell". Not only are all those things untrue, but they are also not worth reading. This blog will be used to complete the following tasks:

• Task 54 on my day zero list: Start a photography journal. I have always wanted to have a photography journal, and now this blog will function as one. The photography journal will involve a photo for everyday, to be uploaded either everyday or all together once a week. Each day, I will have a photo category to complete. Such will be determined in the official start of my photography journal.
• Force me to keep on top of my life. How embarrassing would it be to have to tell the internet, i.e. the world, that you are not contributing? That you are wasting away the little time you have to make a difference? To make happiness? I would be deeply ashamed. Therefore, I cannot let myself be the sloth I've been lately.
• Allow me a place to document ideas and plans for projects to do later. Later is the key word in that sentence. I will be putting ideas for projects in a color other than the typical font color for easy viewage. I want to have some organization in my life, especially with my projects. If this can keep me from having 20 projects at once, I will feel some success. And internet? I hate people who are unoriginal. It's nice that you might like my idea, but if you're going to use it, use it as a starting block. Grow a little.
• Control my socialization needs. I'm a talker. Big time. This is one of the reasons I want to be a radio dj, but not the annoying dumb kind. I find I bother my close friends with my need to interact with others. Although this is a bit one sided, perhaps it will give the lovely people who put up with me a break from my chatter. You're welcome in advance. Pay me back in food.

That may be a bit adventurous for day one. I honestly can't say. It's nearing midnight here, and I may be getting overly ambitious in the late hours, as I normally do. For some reason, bed time is synonymous with brain storming to me. Sleep gets put on the back burner, which is probably not the best plan.

Now that I have forced myself to get things rolling, I will enjoy another chapter of "The Graveyard Book" as read by Mister Neil Gaiman, so puppy and I can drift off to sleep. The sooner we sleep, the sooner we can wake up and start our new meditation routine. I think my puppy enjoys it more than me, which is a bit odd...

Your Achiever-in-the-Making

Martha May