On the airplane. We will make a connection in Paris and arrive in Rome. I just finished the Adam Sandler movie Go With It. I rather feel like curling up alone and crying, but I don't cry around other people, and I'm not alone, so, luckily, I won't. This pent up sadness is in larger reserves than I originally thought. It was so excellent to see Nicole last night. We were such close friends. We were inseparable! We went to London, Amsterdam, Switzerland, San Francisco together. Numerous concerts; Pennywise, Gwar, Slayer, Tool, A Perfect Circle, Ozzfest, Lollapalooza, ...whatever the punk fest was, lots more I can't remember. We tried to skateboard together, made up ideas and drawings for comic books together, worked together, slept next to each other, spoke in our sleep together. Defended each other, comforted each other, kept no record of money spent on each other. Painted crazy looking make-up on each other, dressed to complement each other, told off guys for each other. So many things I'd experienced little or nothing of before or again. It was so good to hear her tell me she didn't care about the past. I told her how for the past 10 years I had simply given up on having a best friend like that again. I'm so happy to have finally passed all these years into this new part of my life. I know nothing about what other people experience in life, each soul experiences everything differently. I am only privy to what I experience. I want to be a good thing in other people's lives. I want to make them laugh and help them find happiness, to see beauty.
Sometimes we are at our worst when we are the most content. When I was happily married, I took my artwork for granted. I soon learned it was the only constant in my life. My eyes have been further opened to reexamine myself. I see so many errors, so much selfishness, probably an old habit formed through feeling sorry for myself. I now see that I have been the one to invite disappointment into my life by expecting to be let down. Even in my joking, I accuse those close to me of crimes they've not committed. The joking is a tool, a a weapon of manipulation used to oppress and control, just as negative as anything less subtle. Why, all these wasted years, did I, in my pride, deny this? I covered it up and made excuses for it instead of seeing the damage I was doing and amending it.
Now, I'm trapped in my private thoughts, at last, forced to confront my real monster; me. Let me continue to be sensitive to the gossip people start and let me end it. Let me see my own faults before I examine those of others. Allow me to fix myself before I bring more pain to anyone else. Help me to be the love conduit. Purge my spirit. When I gaze upon the masters' works I am about to see, let it absorb into my soul that I attain true humility. When I see Caravaggio's hand at work, Michelangelo's La Pieta, da Vinci's genius, Bernini, Botticelli, who knows who will surprise me there with another lesson to humble my frame, let it kill the parts of me that remain vain and weak that I demand the most grueling work to be completed in high quality or not at all. It is time for me to wake up. It is time for me to truly work, to have self-respect and to respect those around me and in my life. It is time for me to be humbled and to create for the beckoning of my muse. My muse. Reveal yourself to me. Let's not do this at all unless we do it all the way. It will hurt and my vain flesh will fight, but let us do this all the way. Humble my spirit so I may create what is real and sincere.
I don't know what the universe will bring me. My will makes no difference in anything besides my creation of art and the nurturing of my children.
I am a single mother, I am 32 years old. My will matters nothing to anyone or anything. If I succumb to lonely emptiness and do not answer the call of my muse, it will not make a difference to anyone besides me and maybe my children. I don't have time to play games with my heart. If we are going to do this, then let's do it all the way or not at all.
Sometimes we are at our worst when we are the most content. When I was happily married, I took my artwork for granted. I soon learned it was the only constant in my life. My eyes have been further opened to reexamine myself. I see so many errors, so much selfishness, probably an old habit formed through feeling sorry for myself. I now see that I have been the one to invite disappointment into my life by expecting to be let down. Even in my joking, I accuse those close to me of crimes they've not committed. The joking is a tool, a a weapon of manipulation used to oppress and control, just as negative as anything less subtle. Why, all these wasted years, did I, in my pride, deny this? I covered it up and made excuses for it instead of seeing the damage I was doing and amending it.
Now, I'm trapped in my private thoughts, at last, forced to confront my real monster; me. Let me continue to be sensitive to the gossip people start and let me end it. Let me see my own faults before I examine those of others. Allow me to fix myself before I bring more pain to anyone else. Help me to be the love conduit. Purge my spirit. When I gaze upon the masters' works I am about to see, let it absorb into my soul that I attain true humility. When I see Caravaggio's hand at work, Michelangelo's La Pieta, da Vinci's genius, Bernini, Botticelli, who knows who will surprise me there with another lesson to humble my frame, let it kill the parts of me that remain vain and weak that I demand the most grueling work to be completed in high quality or not at all. It is time for me to wake up. It is time for me to truly work, to have self-respect and to respect those around me and in my life. It is time for me to be humbled and to create for the beckoning of my muse. My muse. Reveal yourself to me. Let's not do this at all unless we do it all the way. It will hurt and my vain flesh will fight, but let us do this all the way. Humble my spirit so I may create what is real and sincere.
I don't know what the universe will bring me. My will makes no difference in anything besides my creation of art and the nurturing of my children.
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