March 31st, 2013
Well, already skipped day two, but I'm back. I thought about writing yesterday, but decided I had nothing I wanted to say, or things I could say would take too much effort for how exhausted I was. I will try not to let that be an excuse anymore, which means that a lot of entries here are likely to be one or two lines of me saying something extremely banal just to keep the habit up.
I am currently not writing about:
- confusing feelings about nihlism
- the paper I am not writing, the lengths my English professor has gone to to help me pass this class, or the last-ditch-attempt oral exam I am going to be taking on Tuesday.
- the continuing conversations between my sister and I about our mental health and the influences of/on our family
- my grandfather
- the fear of watching people I love get older
- the fear of getting older
- the search for a discipline that encompasses the various the things I love about language (linguistics doesn't fit, nor do modern languages classes or the study of literature).
- The futile but ongoing seach for a career that suits my interests and strenghts while paradoxically avoiding all the virtually identical things I hate/am bad at.
March 29th, 2013
|02:54 pm - Spring is a good time for revivals|
Wow, this place has been deserted for a long time.
It probably seems weird to come back to this empty space to talk to myself, but I think I'm going to make myself comfortable here for a while. I like the quiet. I can't say exactly why I'm not just putting this on paper and keeping it to myself if I want to be alone, except that I've always preferred to be on the edges of things, like with all the parties I listened to from the deck, happy to have the sounds of laughter and company and good friends nearby and just as happy not to have to risk taking part, or all the projects I work on just long enough to see the shape of in my mind's eye before abandoning. Yeesh. Still as maudlin as ever. The point of this exercise is that I am finally taking some advice. I am struggling, really struggling, with school again. I have come back to that place where doing what scares me seems so utterly impossible it feels like running into a brick wall, and not doing it and having everything stay the same is too agonizing to bear, and there are no options left. I will not kill myself, so there's just slamming between the rock and the hard place over and over and over until I go bibbledy and my brain leaks out my ears. Every time I don't succeed, it's negative reinforcement. It's just so damned hard to not fail. Anyway, obviously this general theme affects every facet of my life, but the bit that school is really putting into sharp focus is the complete, incapacitating terror of written assignments. I know it doesn't make sense. I know how long-winded I can be. I am both opinionated and literate. I dwell on things. I like to play in my own thoughts and pat myself on the back for the clever little insights I feel so special for having. I like lateral thinking and drawing connections. I like reason and demonstrating logical support for my arguments. Not only do I not (generally) suffer from test anxiety, I have often gotten excited about exams; they are an opportunity to prove how smart I am and get praise. You show up, you spit the answers onto paper, you leave. Easy. It makes no sense for this to be the thing that drowns me.
I try to understand it (because, again, I love playing in my own thoughts and being fascinated with myself). I'm certain there's a hefty dose of knowing what a pretentious, pedantic prat I am and being rightfully embarrassed by it when I see the proof in print. There is the all-or-nothingness which makes me go uncomfortably uber-formal in writing style for things that I am nervous about, which forms a horrible feedback look with the prattishness. There's the ridiculous, obstinate need to find the "right" way to do things and feeling lost and panicky over the fact that there is no framework out there to dictate exactly where each word in an essay should be (or what the right opinion is, or which font looks best, or how much bigger the title should be). Someone once defined poetry as the best possible words in the best possible order and ever since I heard that I've expected every word I type to be goddamned poetry, for absolutely no reason. I resort to derisive evaluations of the work of my classmates to attempt to anchor myself in reality. It calms me for a moment or two, while also making me feel petty, horrible and ...I can't find the word...something like the opposite of altruistic, cruel with a touch of abasement and self-loathing. It also eventually backfires, making me think how horrible it would be if other people thought I was as stupid as those people I am deriding, and since I am clearly so much smarter, I NEED to do so much better, or I will lose my moral (ha) high ground. I don't know HOW to aim for a B, hence my collection of A's and F's (and here's the site I just consulted in order to write that (not the only one)). Okay, I'm REALLY tired of hearing myself gripe now. This was supposed to be one sentence saying that Joe's been telling me to write a little every day and leave it there without erasing for practice. Not a new idea, but it I am more desperate than other times I've heard it. So, whee, here we go. I will not try to fix my grammar and punctuation. I am going outside into the lovely sunshine now. No one is going to read this and it is stream-of-conciousness and it does not matter, even if I did just make a big deal about being a perfectionist. Going now. No reading. The end.
November 6th, 2009
Do you have my bright yellowy-orangish kitchen scale? How 'bout my Wusthof paring knife? A small, square, red, coil-bound notebook with a ladybug on the front and handwritten recipes on the inside? A massive, blue and cream, hardcovered cookbook called Vegetarian Cooking For Everyone, by Deborah Madison? Most of these things have been missing since mid-late spring. This makes me very sad. The weird part is that they were lost just after our move and definitely not during. I travel with many of those things when I intend to cook in someone else's kitchen, so it's conceivable that they are all in a bag together somewhere. This house eats knives. I had a box of ten or so dollar store knives, two bread knives, a fancy tomato knife, a mediocre steak knife, a decent cheap backup paring knife, and my much-beloved Wusthof santoku and paring knife. I am down to the santoku and one bread knife. The santoku may be a master of many tasks, but coring apples isn't one of them. I miss my knives. I am too stubborn/poor to replace them. The wusthof paring knife is the only one I can imagine ever having toted around with me outside of the house, and they disappeared one at a time aside from the dollar store ones which were all in a box together. It is perplexing. Perhaps we have some very odd theives?
November 4th, 2009
An article about Kayti's exhibit:
Bipolar NSCAD artist sees beauty in breakdowns
(They got the name wrong; should be "Beauty In the Breakdown")
November 1st, 2009
For anyone who's going to be downtown with some free time within the next week: you should go check out my sister's show. It's her first solo installation, titled "Beauty In the Breakdown: a Textile Exploration of Bipolar Disorder". I just spent ten hours staring at the pieces while helping her set up, and I still like looking at them. The show runs Monday-Sunday, but if you come tomorrow night after 5:30, you get to be there for the opening and also get some free food. She's in Gallery Two of the Anna Leonowens at NSCAD, where my brother also had his graduation showing. Info is in this week's Coast. There are two other artists opening in sections of the Anna tomorrow as well. One is a visiting professor whose exhibit is all intricate metal fantasy weaponry and gadgets.
October 28th, 2009
Ah, 2009: it was the best of times; it was the worst of times. All I know is there had better be one hell of a party at the end of it. I don't know where or how or with who, and I don't really feel like trying to sort that out.
October 5th, 2009
Happy Birthday, Heather!
September 8th, 2009
Apparently I only feel the need to write here when life sucks. Kinda makes it hard to use having a written record as a way of getting any kind of perspective. Also makes me sound like a pretty miserable person to know. So, for the record, my life is really pretty great right now. There are tonnes of things that need work, that I`m still very much in the process of learning, but, in the meantime, feeling happy is starting to feel normal. I like this.
August 26th, 2009
I highly recommend paying a visit to youtube and searching for Storm Large if you haven't heard of her.
Here are two to get you started. First is NSFW.
August 15th, 2009
Writing is hard.
Is anyone going to Clam Harbour this year?