Self portrait [screen capture] of a portrait taken by Shiyara, of me

 

In Storage

I have a dutch oven

I have 200 books

I have vibrators

and a blender and a cheese grater

a can opener

I have boots

and coats

a full size fitted sheet

an electric scooter

packed away in some box there is an alter to my father

and my father's ashes

I have dresses, scarves

bottles of half empty spirits

a witches broom from Tennessee- a christmas gift from my mother

and a vacuum- a parting gift from Nicole

There is a desk lamp, 

and tax informations

a hairdryer

and a clothes steamer

I've been a year without them, so maybe I never needed them. The only things I miss on the regular are the full size fitted sheet (I bought a new one), the vibrator (I refuse to buy another when I know I have one, somewhere), dad's ashes (which- I thought I brought with me. I'll never forgive myself if I lost dad. Although what an ode to our childhood, full of misplacing things in the moves), the Fernet Branca (after dinner, it tells your brain you're done eating), some of my books (most of them, honestly) and the desk lamp (how am I supposed to SEE anything I'm working on??) 

I was thinking of this recently because I just bought a can opener. I opened two cans with a paring knife and a mallet and while it worked, it takes too long and next time I'm sure I'll get careless and cut myself. It turns out that Ester and I both spent several weeks hammering at tinned fish with knives before breaking down and just buying the proper apparatus. I mentioned that the last two I've purchased have broken way before they should have and she said she got the one from her childhood- simple, metal. So, so have I. Fingers crossed. 

I hate the life I've made for myself, but I like the things in life. I like this pandan matcha I just bought, that Nelli introduced me too. I like the little dog I pet in the cafe, and the Vietnamese way of make coffee for 10 hours. I hate my credit score and that it's that way because I have no discipline and that I live like a burden or a coddled child. But I did that, that's my fault. I keep being tempted to blame my parents too, but it's not fair even though it's easy. Everyone else is doing fine in the area's that I'm failing at and no one had perfect parents, and mine were actually pretty great. 

I think I should apply to grad school. In another country. Then I can get my degree and increase my credit score while living someplace where I can rent an apartment without a credit score. I have been thinking of the UK, Ireland, Canada- where I speak the language. 

october huji pics so far

 playing pool and eating dumplings with Adriene and Conor @ Mr. Fongs

getting new keys cut for the new studio space ////////    jess teaching class with Buster on her lap

lights reflected in the studio window at golden hour    ///      cooking sushi rice without a pot lid

taking a depression walk in the park and seeing the beauty of the sunset over the baseball fields

watching the ducks, listening to the woodpeckers

a peek into the pond

 

Happy Birthday To Me

 

Turned 36

       I've had this journal for over 10 years. I think, without looking into the archive, I maybe have been logging on to this old thing for 16 years, if time can be believed. I turned 36 last Wednesday. It was lovely having people wish me well, and the occasional person said some really lovely things to me. I got a couple of gifts (a strange toad figurine from Dave with his signature script lovingly painted down the back; a cylindrical box of chocolates from Lora), and I was at the studio all day. Literally all day though. My morning class, I covered the teen class for Ester, and then the evening class I do from home. 

    I was well tired by 9 pm, when I got a text from Rachel telling me to come up, which I did. There waiting for me was not only Rachel, but Shiyara, Jess, Lilian, and two sleepy children heads lolling on the couch. The adults were dancing with silly novelty rainbow glasses on and dancing to a birthday song, with cake! There had been stomping all through my class, which I'd assumed was just the kids running off the energy of the day, but it was my friends, putting up banners and setting up a surprise. It's so sweet, they're so sweet. We did some karaoke later and I got knocked the fuck out by one half of an edible and one singular rum cocktail. I have been told that this is my late 30's and I should get used to it. I fear that the hangover plus the long days I worked last week were a battering ram against my immune system, and Friday I got sick (we though it was allergies. We, meaning me and the man at Accurate Pharmacy who diagnosed me and sold me some sudafed) but I was out all weekend, ded to the world.

Last night was the first night in maybe months where I've just nodded off, no supplements to sleep, no videos to lull me away to dreamland. It was amazing. There has had to be a bridge to get me to sleep, something to distract my busy brain while the rest of me falls out. I flagellate myself at night, cursing and reminding myself of Every Single Thing I've Done Wrong Ever and also Recently. I need a little diversion usually so I can just sleep without fucking crying but yesterday, ah! yesterday! I was so tired I simply slept! I merely SLEPT and for hours and hours (although I have been waking up at 4 am, strangely). I'm writing here at 2 am because every time I pause I hate myself but I'm so tired. I just want to sleep. But I have friends that love me for some reason, so I'm archiving it here, in case I forget. I only took a very few pictures, but enjoy: 

nervous blood

 blood feels nervous and so do my muscles

everything feels tense like someone is running an electrical current through my veins

like I'm being very gently tased

theres a superpower that's often used in media, in fables, in tales, stories: seeing into the future. I would like to see into the future, but just the way normal people see. Five year plans, desires, hopes. Sometimes I get a premonition, but it's of being old and poor, like when I see an elderly person struggling up the stairs in the subway. 

I was thinking of the word, "insatiable" today. Usually it's used to describe someone sex-crazed or obsessed with food, or action. But what about a static insatiability? Like no matter how much she sleeps she is never satisfied, she is insatiable. No matter how much she tries it is not enough, the void is insatiable. No matter what luck drops in her lap it is not good enough for her, she is insatiable. Yes she lives alone but the light is bad. Yes she has a good job, but she wants more money. more more more. insatiable 

Soft Launch of a Soft Landing

Josie is sobbing upstairs. Wailing and screaming in a way that, with the noise canceling headphones on, (but not playing anything) I can't quite tell when it's her sometimes or a fire engine going by. Poor kid, she reminds me of me, in the worst ways. Sleep away camp was supposed to end this weekend but her moms had to drive up yesterday to pick her up early- kicked out, for stealing. Twice. Right now is the reckoning, Both Ali and Rachel are talking to her about The Incident, and I don't think she's taking it well.

I'm in the apartment I was supposed to move into, on the garden level. I don't know how long it will last, and honestly, being down here, I don't think a year in here would be good for me. Its a studio, but there's not a real door- just barn doors, swinging with an inch of visibility into the room even when they're "closed". Which would be okay but for the fact that Ali also has her studio down here, and just breezes in and out when she pleases. Can a girl get A Room With A Door? How far we have fallen from A Room With A View. I suppose I have settled with A Room of One's Own.  One day I hope to have A Home With A View And A Door, Of My Own- A Clean Well Lighted Place. 

I'm ignoring texts again. I don't know why I do it, I just don't respond to some things. Even to people I love, or to things which are important. Or that I want to answer. It feels... pathological. 

I have to go to work soon. There's a student at work who farms at Brooklyn Grange, and she brings me vegetables. Today: a bundle of rosemary, three hot peppers, a basket of cherry tomatoes, and a tiny, perfect, garlic. I was singing to myself the other day about how shitty garlic in NYC is, how I've never lived somewhere (except maybe Iceland) where it was so hit or miss on whether you'd get a good or rotten clove. So, that little fresh garlic, secreted away in the cherry tomatoes, nearly makes me want to cry.