Oh I know you're surprised at the title.
Today is Tuesday. Tomorrow, as we were taught in grade school, is Wednesday. Wednesday is the day that I am officially back at University of Delaware, and I could not be more excited if I tried.
I'm moving into an apartment with a great set of girls. My best friend at school, Katie, is one of them, along with a girl Mary, who is very sweet. I don't know Meghan all that well yet, but we've got time, right? I have my own room with an attached bathroom, I can fit in a queen sized bed with both my art desk and regular school desk, and I still have more room than I know what to do with. The closet is half empty because I don't have enough clothing to fill it. More than half empty actually. I. Love. It.
Mostly I just want to be out of home. I like it alright, I love my family, but I'm just looking forward to my last year too much to want to be here when I could be the hour away. Surprisingly enough there haven't been too many fights in the household, I guess I'm not doing anything to tick them off as of late. It's kind of surprising how one aspect of your life can control the overall attitude. I dunno.
Mostly I'm just rambling because I don't want to find boxes for the great piles of crap that have managed to appear while I was cleaning out my desk. I'm a terrible pack rat. It's horrid. I can't throw anything away, not even the floppy disk that probably has one presentation on it from 8th grade. It's a problem. I've found old journals and notebooks, poems and stories. It's been hysterical for me to reread what I've done over the years. Thankfully both my prose and my handwriting have improved. It's been weird, though. I don't feel as old as I am.
Sometimes I swear I'm 16. Then I double check and say no no, I'm 18. Then I triple check and say holy shit I'm almost 21. When did I stop mentally aging? Sometimes I still feel like that awkward high school girl, when I know in so many ways I've changed and diverged from her. In a lot of ways I feel boring. I get bored of telling people the same story, even if they've never heard it before.
"I'm a senior at University of Delaware. Yeah, it's a really big school. I'm an Art Conservation major, no we don't hug trees. It's kind of cool. It's a small group." And by the time I get done with that I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm tired of explaining what artcon is, I'm tired of telling people what I want to do with the rest of my life, because honestly I don't know what it is I want. I don't like talking to people who don't have some kind of passion, I don't like talking to people who like to get trashed and brag about it, I don't like having to explain everything about myself. I don't know if it's just that I think people are wasting my time, or if I just don't want to talk about me. My sister is great at it. The whole world seems to listen when she talks, and she can get a conversation going and keep it rolling. I on the other hand, like to sort of sit back and listen.
No wonder I get passed up.
My friends can't understand it. Guys I've dated can't understand it. Why would someone look me over? Well, I guess it's because I'm a pretty face that doesn't talk. Not in groups. I'm better in one on one, I'm more of a personal person, and I don't like to waste my life story on people who couldn't care less and are entranced by this beautiful dark girl sitting next to me. There's a lot in this world that I don't understand, and why I totally shut down when Steph's around is one of them. I try for a little bit, but she's the master, so I just step to the side and give up.
I didn't really intend to talk about my shortcomings as a human being in the social world. I think anyone who reads this who knows me knows that it takes a while for me to actually come on out and show who I am. And congrats, you all have passed the test, you're people I'm comfortable with, albeit naturally awkward.
Later, folks.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Oy
Alright, I'm far less motivated than I was at 6 am this morning. However, I feel like I haven't done any kind of update in forever, so I'm going to just go for it and hope for the best.
I've come to a crossroads of sorts. It's my senior year, and it means that I'll have to be making some kind of life decision, and soon. I think I've already made it, it's just a matter of implementing and hoping I don't fall flat on my face.
For the past 3 years I've slowly pinned, pushed, and buried myself into a place I don't exactly belong. I had resigned myself to conservation because I figured if I can't create, I'll conserve. And I was quite convinced I couldn't create. All of my projects over the past 3 years have been half finished sketches, overly emo watercolors, and copies for class. I've stifled my creativity to the point where I felt like I couldn't even write a creative essay, a short story, or even a few lines of prose. I didn't even like my signature. But I had told my creative self, "Sorry, you'll have to wait until I'm 50 with enough money to build my dream studio and space to fill with all my half-assed ideas."
Bill's given me a new look at things. He's given me a new breath of life, saying, "Hey, wait a minute, there's potential here. There's insight. There's something that speaks to people." And with that my little half crippled gasping for breath creative self seized a chance to poke out its head. To slowly work it's way back out, to push through the cracks and the locks my practical side had placed upon it. And suddenly, it's broken free. I look at things differently. I look at colors and textures, the way light catches on carved wood, the shine of brass rods, the shadows and highlights of everyday objects. I let my hand draw whatever it feels like and I don't scribble it out if I don't like it or give up on it halfway through. I've drawn myself a few times, I've drawn my feet, my hands, arms, back. If it's there I'll try it. I want to shape and sculpt and carve away. This project Bill gave me has given me the opportunity to just go with it. The best part of it all is that I don't have to stop and ask for how to do something, I don't have to wait for someone else to get to the next step. This is something I understand, something that I can look at and say "I need to take that edge down more" or "I like the way the marks from the chisel look" and I can move on. I can push through without regard for time. I have blisters on my hands, splinters in my skin, and paint on my face, and I have not felt this free and happy in what feels like a long time. It's not something dependent on other people, it's not something that I worry about other people liking. It's like taking a breath of fresh air after being inside for too long and feeling the sun warm your skin.
I've made up my mind. I'm going to get my master's in art after college. I'm hoping to apply as soon as possible, if not for the fall, then for the spring. I want to major in sculpture, and go back and get my master's in art conservation for objects. I want a two bedroom apartment to myself, where I can paint and build in one room, and sleep in the other. I can do this. I will do this. I don't care how long it takes me or how many jobs I have to hold down to get through. I found something that makes me happy and I am going to fight like hell to get it.
That's about it, I think. Welcome to it.
I've come to a crossroads of sorts. It's my senior year, and it means that I'll have to be making some kind of life decision, and soon. I think I've already made it, it's just a matter of implementing and hoping I don't fall flat on my face.
For the past 3 years I've slowly pinned, pushed, and buried myself into a place I don't exactly belong. I had resigned myself to conservation because I figured if I can't create, I'll conserve. And I was quite convinced I couldn't create. All of my projects over the past 3 years have been half finished sketches, overly emo watercolors, and copies for class. I've stifled my creativity to the point where I felt like I couldn't even write a creative essay, a short story, or even a few lines of prose. I didn't even like my signature. But I had told my creative self, "Sorry, you'll have to wait until I'm 50 with enough money to build my dream studio and space to fill with all my half-assed ideas."
Bill's given me a new look at things. He's given me a new breath of life, saying, "Hey, wait a minute, there's potential here. There's insight. There's something that speaks to people." And with that my little half crippled gasping for breath creative self seized a chance to poke out its head. To slowly work it's way back out, to push through the cracks and the locks my practical side had placed upon it. And suddenly, it's broken free. I look at things differently. I look at colors and textures, the way light catches on carved wood, the shine of brass rods, the shadows and highlights of everyday objects. I let my hand draw whatever it feels like and I don't scribble it out if I don't like it or give up on it halfway through. I've drawn myself a few times, I've drawn my feet, my hands, arms, back. If it's there I'll try it. I want to shape and sculpt and carve away. This project Bill gave me has given me the opportunity to just go with it. The best part of it all is that I don't have to stop and ask for how to do something, I don't have to wait for someone else to get to the next step. This is something I understand, something that I can look at and say "I need to take that edge down more" or "I like the way the marks from the chisel look" and I can move on. I can push through without regard for time. I have blisters on my hands, splinters in my skin, and paint on my face, and I have not felt this free and happy in what feels like a long time. It's not something dependent on other people, it's not something that I worry about other people liking. It's like taking a breath of fresh air after being inside for too long and feeling the sun warm your skin.
I've made up my mind. I'm going to get my master's in art after college. I'm hoping to apply as soon as possible, if not for the fall, then for the spring. I want to major in sculpture, and go back and get my master's in art conservation for objects. I want a two bedroom apartment to myself, where I can paint and build in one room, and sleep in the other. I can do this. I will do this. I don't care how long it takes me or how many jobs I have to hold down to get through. I found something that makes me happy and I am going to fight like hell to get it.
That's about it, I think. Welcome to it.
Whoooosh
Expect something later today. I can't guarantee it'll be any good, or make any sense, but I want to write what's floating in my head, and I will do it.
To work with me.
To work with me.
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