I am supposed to be writing a paper on the development of aesthetic thought. 3 pages, too, easy, completely doable. I have spent the majority of my day decorating the walls of my apartment, as if each placement of each image were of the utmost importance to my survival. I want so much more to continue working on art than to stretch out ideas.

I'm glad that no one reads this anymore. Maybe it's actually a journal now. Auditions were today. I felt unsure of what to do, how to talk to them in a way that expressed anything genuine. I miss you. I'm trying to grow up and to be happy and to do something good for myself. It's hard.

I am really freaked out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CbMeAOTPJzM

I never write in here anymore, so that I am doing so must be a mark of something. I didn't realize that I could still be having that feeling in my stomach, but I can't seem to get rid of it and I keep withdrawing and I don't feel like myself and I'm not interested in talking and I just want to rip things or bury myself in heating pads or screw any ( Read more... )

I miss you :(

I find that I want to grasp people with alkaline fingertips, absorbing as much as I can before dissolving into myself. Only 14 of my 24 pictures turned out, but they have a quality about them that makes me desperately want my past three lost rolls. I wish I could develop the one in black and white too, just to see what I came up with. I have this ( Read more... )

Why did I ever think I could transfer anywhere. I should have never even tried.

The key word is deserving. There is no deserving as an artist. I am no different fundamentally than others my age or with my background. You are somewhat mystified as to my talent as it seems no more or less apparent from my demeanor or my resume. Were you a seer you could grasp my potential, if indeed I had a range and not simply the sky or my ( Read more... )

Again with this heaviness. I still do not know and I cannot motivate myself to sell erratic pieces of myself to the possibility of a perfect match. I dream of match.com, of first days, and of complications. I am too reliant on Stephen. I am boring. I am "reading" six books at the current time. I should begin to use post-it notes. I am angry. I am ( Read more... )