Dream a Little Dream

Another Saturday night watching my kid cousin watch cartoons, perched like a gargoyle on his razor scooter.


Yeah.


Livin’ the dream.

The Point of It All

I think a person’s ability to achieve their dreams depends entirely on their ability to obsess over something and be fairly well oblivious to other things; distractions, alternative callings, demoralization, etc.

I don’t have that.

I don’t know if it’s because I struggle with depression, and the resulting apathy gets in the way of my ability to be consumed by something or if I just haven’t found that one thing that really drives me.

If I was more obsessed with sewing, it wouldn’t matter that there’s not space to cut fabric or that I have to give up the ability to move around my room in order to set up a sewing table. I would sacrifice comfort and space, and I would just sew.

But I get distracted by the fact that without adequate space, cutting becomes inaccurate; and inaccurate pieces fit together poorly, making an ill-fitting, ill-made garment that I consider to be a waste of time and fabric.

If I were more obsessed with drawing, it wouldn’t matter that there isn’t space; it wouldn’t matter that the room is dimply lit; it wouldn’t matter that I have no desk.

But again, I get distracted; poor lighting affects your color choices. What looks good in the dim light may look awful in day-light or under a good craft light—no one is going to look at your finished product in dim, crappy lighting all the time, and you run the risk of ruining your art and wasting resources.

I could draw on the computer, but drawing on a laptop with no desk [or chair] starts to really damage my neck, arm and shoulder. Plus, I prefer sketching on paper, scanning in and then coloring digitally.

If I were more obsessed my comfort wouldn’t matter, or I wouldn’t notice.
I obsess over a boy sometimes--but I can’t really make a career or hobby out of being a girlfriend, at least not without sacrificing personal ethics and my sense of dignity.

Sometimes, I try to write—but I lose the story about halfway through the 3rd page when whatever first sparked the idea just suddenly blinks out like it never existed at all.

And I look out over my piles of fabric, my boxes of beads, my markers and Bristol board and thread in every color—and I feel lost in it; daunted. It’s all piles of bright, hideous chaos and nowhere to put it all, no space to add a touch of method to these great heaps of madness.

It would be nice to obsess. It would be nice to feel driven.

But things slowly begin to feel like a waste of time. I question what I’m doing; for what purpose? To what end?

What, exactly, is the point?

Alien Nation

I spend all day by myself in an empty cafe, feeling progressively more useless; then I go home, too tired to do anything but sleep. People invite me to do things, and I have to reply "sorry, I don't have the energy", and go back to my constant half-coma. I don't see anyone or speak to anyone, except in passing or online.

I was thinking about this moment from last week, where my friend and her mom came into the cafe. She was telling me what I should do with my art and I started talking about how I've been having somewhat demoralizing issues with inspiration over the last couple years.

And then my friend's mom cut right through my sentence with a piece of advice. I feel that this is one of the most alienating things you can do to someone who's been feeling down and out.

I think this might be why some people blog. You can't interrupt text with advice or dismissal. Well, you can--but it's just that much harder.

This is also why I don't talk in real life.

People assume that if you're talking about a problem, then you're asking the listener to fix it or give you advice.

But mostly, sometimes exclusively, I just want to feel heard...and not so alone.

On the other hand, though, I suppose a person's pain is their own and if we were meant to be there for each other we'd have evolved telepathy by now.

I don't mean to make such impositions.

I guess I'm still learning how to cope with the reality that I must just shut up and deal with it myself.

Fat Chance

Do you ever catch your reflection and think "god, is that what I look like?"

Some days I just don't recognize myself. It's like looking into a shop window and catching stranger staring back at you.

I had a dream that I looked good. My hair was cut, my skin was clear--and I had the perfect lipstick color. my hair was dark, too. Black. It matched my shirt, and that weird dream way where textures collide.

I think I'm vain, but my chronic apathy gets in the way of me bothering to look really good.

I'd like whiter teeth, better breath, a haircut, the ability to fit back into my pants again. Mind you, I'm not anything resembling over-weight, but I don't fit into any of my pants or skirts suddenly and that's really what bothers me.

I. don't. want. to. buy. new. things.

Or at least I cant afford to do it in a leisurely way. or any way.

And my other chronic issue--fatigue--really gets in the way of moving things around to make space for my sewing machine. Or looking for a job that actually pays me, so I could bypass the sewing machine issue and buy a fucking pair of pants and some whitening strips, cause I'm starting to look like those people nobody hires outside of a fastfood job fair.

more later, as I'm technically supposed be doing my job as a faux-barsita who's boss pretends to pay her.

disHarmony

So I was bored and went over to eHarmony.com because I know they have this questionnaire of epic length and I just wanted a little mindless multiple-choice action.

Then I got to this section:

"Please use the scale below to rate how often during the past month you have felt the following ways."

On a scale of 1-7 where 1= rarely 4= occasionally 7= almost always

1.Happy [2]
2.Sad [7]
3.Anxious [7]
4.Confident [1]
5.Hopeful [3]
6.Fearful about the future [7]
7.Angry [4]
8.Calm [1]
9.Fortunate [1]
10.Out of control [6]
11.Fulfilled [2]
12.Depressed [7]
13.Energetic [1]
14.Tired [7]
15.Successful [1]
16.Unable to cope [7]
17.Satisfied [1]
18.Misunderstood [3]
19.Safe [1]
20.Plotted against [1]

Miss Mouse will probably not be rejoining the dating scene any time soon...

If September is good to me, I'll fill it out again in Oct and hope most of these numbers can be truthfully reversed.

I think I'm pretty comfortable with #20's answer, though.