Obsession

Photography is a labor of love. There is heartbreak, joy, and everything in between. There's pain when you pinch your fingers or the enlarger, or when you splash fix in your eyes. There's the lamentations until finally, the perfect print is achieved.

I have only eaten a single chocolate muffin today. This is bad. I went to photography and lost track of time. Also bad. My back is screaming at me, my heels are crying, but I am content. Physical pain is nothing. The satisfaction of proving that I am a photographer and have always been one keeps me going.

Now I'm off to go get some real food.

Working it Out

After a couple days of recent drama with a friend, I've cut him off. For now. He told me that I'm the only person he consistently shoves advice at. He expects me to take it and interprets me not using it as not listening. All I hear from him is "You're making a big mistake!" and "I can't wait to see how THAT ends!"
Sarcastic, of course. Over the internet. Right.
I don't need that negativity in my life now. Last night was the first night I got decent sleep. This morning, in self-defense class, I punched a block out of my instructor's hands. It's a good way to wake up. A good place to scream as loud as I want.

The Working Woman

Once upon a time, I had an office job. This job was cushy and I got away with a lot of stupid things. But I always did my work. I did stupid things like beat up keyboards, filing cabinets, shoot zip disks out of zip disk drives (they FLY), and concoct terrible things on my lunch break. My work uniform was pretty much whatever I wanted - read: same black Pumas I'd had since I was 13, black shirt of some kind, and either a red linen buttondown or a cornflower blue blouse. It was my way of feeling like a little professional at age 13.
That blouse. Crisp, hanging in my closet for me every morning. Darts sewn flat. It gave me a sense of order. Paired with my favorite dark jeans, it made me feel serious, but not too serious. I could take on the world at my desk, flaunting my cornflower blue shirt, wielding my letter opener, and rocking out to music on the iPod I purchased all by myself. Yes, that shirt gave me confidence.
The next summer, something happened. Shortly after graduation I spiraled into terror. The world was out to get me. I could die any day, for any reason. I didn't know what to do with this strange new feeling. Irrational bouts of terror that I believed would ultimately culminate in death weren't something I could bring into casual conversation.
I dealt with it. Or tried.
Yeah, not so brilliant solution there. Cue four months of trying to look like you're not panicking, trying to keep it all from tumbling down. And I couldn't let it - how good I looked in my little cornflower blue buttondown, cuffs turned up ever-so-slightly with the little-bit-big black jeans (negative sizes don't exist) and the everpresent black shoes. Not a hair out of place. Brand-new black eyeglasses. Hoop earrings all lined up, three per ear.

I have a job interview Friday. The cornflower blue shirt won't be coming with me. I will march into the office, vintage designer wardrobe courtesy of Thrift Town. My skirt is printed with Ferragamo bags, gloves, loafers, scarves, and Hermès Kelly bags. My vintage cashmere cardigan is decorated with hand-sewn pearls. The cornflower blue shirt is back at home in my closet. Since I lost my office job I don't wear my cornflower blue shirt that much, but sometimes I take it out and look at it and feel sad, but triumphant.
Some days I still wonder if death is waiting for me behind a light pole, but for now, I've kept on walking.

Day of Memories

Today, a day of memories. It started with the smell of fresh-cut grass. All of a sudden I was back in Sea Ranch, tearing around on an ATV while belting out "Lift Ev'ry Voice and Sing." I stopped walking for a moment to acknowledge the sense of yearning I had for the past. I used to do that a lot to the point where I'd become completely distracted and totally enraptured by my memories. As I walked in the city today I felt as if I was in New York City again. The smell of cars, the air the right temperature.

Smell has to be my favorite sense. It brings back the strongest memories for me. The smell of soaps, perfumes, candy, places, food, and the people I associate them with. Liquorice. Chanel number 5. Cigarette smoke. A forgotten shirt.

Living Life

What can I say? The last few weeks have been great. I dropped that philosophy class like a hot potato and spent the next day running up and down Mills Hall trying to get signatures on my add/drop form before I realized that I could do it electronically. Oh well. All that matters is that I'm taking photography. I had some amazing Thai food in the city my first weekend back. Wednesday night I saw "Avatar," Saturday morning I picked up photography supplies. It's good to be doing things again.

Today has been productive. By 12:45 I had my laundry done, I'd dropped off a bunch of mugs at the chapel, eaten lunch, dropped off an employment application, and I had the laundry folded and away.

Class Review

or, "Why I will punch every single one of you in the face."
Yes, I am going to talk about my classes in terms of why I will punch people in their faces.

French 4 - Good ol' French class. Not much to say here. Why I will punch you in the face: During a particularly heated discussion of group work I will snap.

Personal Defense for Women - I cannot wait to start learning self-defense. I always try to look like I'm "walking with a purpose" and I know where I'm going even if I'm not. I learned this a while back. I can't quite pinpoint when. Perhaps it was growing up with a mom who'd shout "Pick up your feet!" when I'd drag my shoes along (thanks for that, mom. You've saved me so much wear and tear on my shoes), or maybe it was learning ballet. Maybe it was when I bought my first iPod and I didn't want to be anybody's target. Maybe it was when I wanted to show the world that I was put together even when I thought the world was dissolving beneath my feet. Why I will punch you in the face: Self-explanatory.

Art of the Modern World - Oh my god, I'm in love. Art history that I feel is more relevant to me? Sign me up! Why I will punch you in the face: The book. Dear god, the book. I will punch this $123 soft-cover thousand-paged book in its face.

Film in American Society - Three-hour twice-a-week Burke class. I love this man. His passion for his subject keeps my interest even when he goes on his crazy tangents that he somehow manages to lead right back to the start. Why I will punch you in the face: During a particularly spirited reenactment of the Sonny-beating-up-Carlo fight from "The Godfather" I will accidentally hit you. Sorry.

Aesthetics - I have never felt so grossly mislead. The course description sounded like it would be an exploration of why we find the things we find beautiful, the meaning of beauty, and all that.
Well, I was wrong. What I remember from the time I was there was our prof talking about how a good dictionary would be a good investment.
"But what about the changing definition of words? I mean, nemesis doesn't mean what it used to."
Oh god.
"Why do we use words anyway? What is the point of words?"
Get me out of here.
The same three or four people keep talking out of their pretentious asses. I sit in the corner and contemplate suicide by pencil. I don't last the two and a half hours and choose to duck out during break. Someone else can take my spot. Please, take my spot. Why I will punch you in the face: You will drive me up the wall as you muse on the meaning of words like "dictionary," "nemesis," and "the." Then I will punch you in the face.

Well, so much for posting.

Life happens. Today was my first day back in classes. Yesterday I moved in again and I can say it's nice to be back. Break was great, don't get me wrong. I just tend to go a little stir-crazy after a while. I finally replaced my aging G4 Powerbook with its awesome battery life of about 3-5 minutes max with a kickin' rad Macbook Pro. I got my wisdom teeth out and I can say that's a relief. For a while I was grinding my teeth pretty seriously in what I can assume was an involuntary pain management attempt. I like being able to sleep without grinding my teeth like an e-tard now. I got a tattoo, I played video games, and I churned out banana bread muffins like nobody's business. If there is anything I missed while at college, it's cooking.