Hey Bunnies! To begin today’s rambling; a disclaimer: I’m in a bit of a transitional phase right now. To this, you may justifiably respond with “No shit, girlfran. You 25. You want a trophy?” That’s cool. I could use some tough love – and Emma could probably use someone with whom to carry that particular burden. But here’s what’s up:
- With great responsibility comes a permanently furrowed brow; a reassessment of one’s beauty and hygiene regimen (unkempt is a statement, y’all — if MK Olsen, the French and the homeless can pull it off, so can I!); and a really tremendous learning experience. I’m learning that it’s hard for me to shake my people-pleasing tendencies and set boundaries for myself and the people in my life. I’m also learning that those people, even the ones I like a lot, can and will walk all over me if I don’t repeatedly stick up for my sanity.
- More on those neuroses: I hate confrontation. Instead, I like to practice what this babe (again!) likes to call “making a diamond.” Here’s how it works: I retain a lump of coal comprised of layers and layers of ash and silt and anger. I pressure cook that shit in my hot little hands because I’m so conscious of upsetting other humans that I can’t even articulate my needs to myself. Then there’s a volcano or some crap because #geology, and bam! A diamond!
My diamonds – the rocks that I got – oft materialize into rant-y blog posts against the male species, anti-Robin Thicke propanda, poems about Sylvia Plath, and creepy paintings (currently working on one of a girl who looks just like me getting knifed by mutinous kewpie dolls #dateme).
Clearly, mining my feelings in this way is all part of my creative process. Another part of my creative process, however, is actually giving myself time to create; and in that way, I’ve failed myself. Lately, it’s been all pressure cookin’, no diamonds. And frankly, I’m starting to feel like a lunatic.
Solution: make stuff. These will be long-harbored blood
, sweat and tears diamonds, yo. I’m going to finish a chapter of the book this weekend. I’m going to paint and decoupage and sparkle-fy the shit out of my book case and nightstand. I’m going to finish my Chicago Hood Rats drawing. I’m going to buy a bicycle helmet and bedazzle it and take it to the streets. I’m going to relentlessly pursue a new performance opportunity. And I’m going to keep in mind that a job is just a job; my friends will stick by me no matter how hermit the frog I get; eventually I may discover that not every guy is #theworst and, you know; I have to keep doin’ me. A tougher, less easily manipulated version of me. Aw, here I go again.
Love you guys. Are you hatching any diamonds? Let a sister know