the DC Weekend.

So it is 1am and I am lying on my belly on a comfy couch in a Homewood Suites in Alexandria, Virginia. My youngest brother is drooling on his comforter passed out in the armchair next to me. The other brother is talking in his sleep in the other room while my parents rest together in another bedroom. The Aunt and two second cousins are sleeping soundly two floors below me.

I am the only creature crawling around this lonely but quite home-ie hotel. We have come here for the National Book Fair in Washington DC and I am tagging along for the ride – I need to get out of Pittsburgh for a little bit.
Last year there were authors that I knew, and this year I was a little sad to not recognize anyone on the roster. This must be a sign that I need to read more, and then I remember that I never have time for my favorite pastime. One of my favorite smells in the world is a brand new book or a very old one. I loved going to the library as a child, and I still enjoy visiting the places books live to this day. Why don't I just put my computer down now and dive into one of the three different books I brought with me?

The fact that I just finished a major meditation session over a project proposal might have something to do with it. I'm working on a piece for an alleyway space. The frustration with the thought process led me to run outside and just walk around the little part of Alexandria surrounding the hotel. I sat on this peaceful grassy knoll and watched adolescent male party animals run inside the McDonald's across the street. I listened to the cars, the neighborhood sounds of dogs, and other creatures whining and howling. I took in the rhythm of traffic and imagined driving down the Leesburgh Pike with ‘them’ - radio on, caffeine pumping through our veins. I noticed couples returning from the city to the hotel, looking ready to crawl into bed together as the staggered hand in hand toward the hotel entrance. The best sight was the sky with clouds lit up by city lights. It’s an electric sky.

I came back inside and wrote the proposal. It's not all worked out and I need some input from a collegiate source but I like what I am thinking. I can't wait to hear back.

But now, I must retire.

It's 'Morning' Again

I need to start getting on the ball. then I realize I only thake four classes and can't possibly fill my entire day with school work. Let me just get through today and finish the little painting, and start on something quick for 2-D mixed media and worry about Senior Project later...

All of this means nothing to anyone except me, but it is the way I think during the semester.

Otherwise, I've just been hanging out, chain smoking, and riding in cars with boys. I need to find friends rocking the double XX... My friends from school, work, and outside of both those things are all guys. Less drama yes, but a bit weird none the less.

To Motivate.

So it begins.

This week, the real deal has set in over campus. Kids are refusing to leave dorms because of the little voice that nags at the back of our heads screaming deadlines.

Monday first painting due but not before the meeting with my professor, Tuesday is the crit on the two squares - plus the first homework of Abnormal Psych is due. Then there are the two days I work from 6pm until 2am - and the mini exam the following week where I haven't read a single part of the book for... The list goes on and on. The voice gets more and more persistent.

Today instead of appeasing the voice I fucked around. But the fact is the voice didn't reach me until about right now - at a little after two in the morning on a Saturday night. After grocery shopping, painting, movie watching, more painting, and drawing. I've gotten enough done, but it isn't about that. The voice makes you feel as if you are walking through quick sand and you can't finish anything even though there is enough time for all of it. I freak, and refuse to move - refuse to work - I can't concentrate - all I can think or feel is fear of failure. Yet I will fail if I don't work.

Let's stop procrastinating.

Just Watch Me!

A new school day is arriving and I can't sleep. Instead, I am sitting and listening to what I believe is rain hitting the roof of the apartment next door. My neighbor has wised up and raised the shades, probably knowing that my curiosity will have the better of me. No matter how humble your life may seem I am interested in the smallest details of your daily movements.

The cars are flying down Fifth Ave. and then coming to a crawl at the light on Craig St. I always wonder what someone could be doing up so early/later and where they could be going. I just hope it isn't an emergency - but the way that Yankees drive, who could tell the difference...

I never put my shades down and wonder daily if anyone can even see into this room. If they did, what exactly would go through their head as I made eggs, sat in the window and smoked cigs, laid down to go to sleep? Would they notice that I can't bring myself to turn off a light in this place and realize that I - even at the 'ripe old age' of 21 am still terrified of the dark? Would they find that a little strange as even I do?

Fifteen until three and I can't get rid of the stomach ache and go to bed. I need ginger ale but can't make it to the vending machine. Instead I'll chug Pittsburgh's best from the tap and crawl into bed in order to forget today and start working on tomorrow. The big question for this evening is which show am I going to watch in order to lull myself to sleep?

When It Drizzles It Never Stops.

This weekend is nothing but a party and a bad hangover. The weather sucks so what else is there to do then hole up and drink oneself into a stupor? Thank you tropical depression leftovers. The best part is being in a crowded fraternity on campus and falling whilst evacuating during a poorly timed fire alarm.

The city is the same as I left it. Just as depressed as ever and just as over run by stumbling college aged assholes. It's gotten colder fast without any sign of letting up. I'm enjoying myself mind you but I know what to expect each and every day I wake up in this god forsaken city. Smoke a cig, have a beer, hang out in my pj's and attempt to be witty. This week though, is the week everything really starts to pick up. The party will die down to nothing and the studying, stressing, and art making will pick up.

We art senior's had our art studio draw and I wound up in studio number one - with no complaints. I'm just happy I have a corner sans assholes.

Otherwise, I have been listening to an excess of Dresden Dolls and waiting for someone from VA to call. Nothing special really.

"Dear Mr. and/or Mrs. Sender-
We're pleased to inform you that your applications been accepted
Starting from the time you get this letter
Your life will be one never-ending
"hope you're feeling better"
You get your choice of an aesthetic
We'll need to chop your clock off (tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock)
It might not be what you expected
There is no money back once you've been ripped off..."

The Crybaby Essay.

Here is a view of Carnegie Mellon as ripped off from Wikipedia's entry about the school. It's pretty decent, I mean I pay a good $40+ grand a year to go so you would think it would be amazing. Well, it has it's ups and downs as everything does.

This semester I have swindled my way into only taking four classes, (instead of the average five.) This way I can work and have time to really concentrate on the three studios which are my true focus and fuck around in my Ab Psych class.
This week I find out I am the only motherfucker that wants to decrease the amount of classes I'm taking. I am surrounded by over-achieving assholes with ten word long double majors/ minors that have a stick up their ass about everything...

But, to be honest, I am not actually letting my frustration it get to me. I am sitting in my nice apartment with a gorgeous view, I've lit a Cowboy Killer, and have proceeded to start dancing around in my underware, with the shades up and the windows open. Got to let that Fall air in folks.

Now, if only I could get rid of this horrifying homesickness.