Okay, so I fixed the painting…! But seriously. Then we could make goat cheese to have with dinner every night. (And goats are so cute! I love those videos on Facebook.) And I assume that we’d make a ton of money and have a never ending supply of wine. People would visit and buy our wine then buy my paintings because they’re drunk and on vacation.
I don’t know whether things have been busy or if I have just been uninspired, but the result is the same…no art, no writing, no blogging. And yet I have been in a good place. Money stinks, but my happiness is invaluable…and through the wonders of modern medicine and my loving husband’s support, I feel like I’ve become a happy, well-adjusted adult capable of participating in society. (Knock on wood.)
Anyway, you may remember me bitching and complaining about not being a part of a local theater production of The Sound of Music. True to life and the phrase “you can’t always get what you want (you get what you need),” I was cast in another production that I’ve become exceedingly excited about…Kiss me Kate! So I’m not sure as to my free time in the upcoming weeks. Thankfully I don’t run a popular blog… ^_~
In this particular production I get to star opposite said loving husband, which is about the coolest thing in the world. Stage magic is the best, and being able to share that with the person you love is really special…as well as stressful. Our lives have been consumed with lines, music, blocking and choreography. I wake up at night with songs stuck in my head, and at any given moment I am muttering my character’s dialogue. My commuting concerts in the car have turned into mini rehearsals.
But I am not complaining. Like I said, it’s the coolest thing in the world. But I am struggling with confidence. Confidence is this sexy, desirable trait…so naturally it’s one that I find elusive. Can obsessive compulsive and awkward be the new confident in 2017, please? Or do I really have to make a resolution to be more confident…? Is such a thing possible?
This doodle might grow up and be a painting, but we can’t really know for sure until it does evolve (ha, Pokemon joke!) And it’s a selfish, completely ME sort of work…
No really, it’s a few of my favorite things.
This has been a shitty year. Right now I am literally dealing with a post surgery wound, a still fresh mental diagnosis, a bite plate (see also: giant hunk of plastic in one’s face), 40 extra pounds, a creativity crisis AND I’m going to turn 30 any day now (see also: April 10th). There’s also a rash somewhere we won’t talk about. All this coming off the heels of leaving a really glamorous, high paying job to a safe, Anne Hathaway at the start of Devil Wears Prada sort of position that I love but doesn’t pay my exuberant credit card bills. And then I find out the local theater is doing my favorite musical and due to all this and more (see also: not skinny or blonde or young enough), I won’t be a part of it.
It’s the Sound of freaking Music. And as I was stewing in all this, wondering why I like the simple, outdated, cliche…totally nostalgic, heartfelt show so much, dwelling on how I can’t be a part of it and that sucks, blah blah blah and it occurs to me… There’s a song in there that I know SO well…and duh. This is exactly what it’s for. (Cue corny musical chord.) Now I don’t know about schnitzel with noodles, but I do know that owls and watermelon and mushrooms and wine and Jason and nail polish and Pikachu and so on are my favorite things.
So the plan is to paint this, maybe in a classier color scheme and certainly with more saturation. If I can’t sing it I’ll paint it and… And then I (hopefully) don’t feel so bad.
Stop your surgery scratching
You’re not the doctor
Leave the splinters and pins in the heart where you found them
I’m better off hurting
No more pills more pills more
A functioning melancholic
30 doesn’t mean you’re grown up
Fallen is the star
Insecure of shining
If the others will be brighter
But the dawn came for them all
I have a hard time letting go.
There was the Barbie that was my very favorite with big purple eyes. Because she was my favorite she was also my little sister’s (the highest form of flattery, they attempted to convince me) and my mom gave the doll to her — probably because I was getting “too old” to play with dolls… I haven’t forgotten about it, or my absolute RAGE.
I put nails in the driveway to try and flat tire my cousin out of going back home to Illinois. I had a really short sighted idea of how that would play out — that she would magically be made to stay forever because of a nail in a tire. Speaking of which, I forced myself to throw up and make a big scene at McCarren Airport in effort to keep my internet boyfriend with me just a little bit longer. And it worked. Back then they let you do things like hop on a later flight and sit with your loved ones at the terminal.
Sometimes lyrics inspire me. I liked this one…I put it at the top. I hope it inspires you. It prompted one more memory in me, but that one will forever be a secret. I promise it’s just as twisted, dark and weird.
It occurs to me that my bipolar diagnosis makes a lot of sense. Insert emoji happy/crying face.
I really have no idea what to say. I don’t know if it’s the medication or just part of the human experience, but all my wit and wonder has dried up. Or maybe now that I am “normal,” I realize it was the mania driving my creativity.
I mean, I’m being dramatic. I’m writing right now and if you ask my husband I’m always writing. But now something feels off. Foreign. Like a new freckle — no, too innocuous — like waking up without an arm.
This strange new world has also affected my art. I can’t think of any paintings lately. Others may tell me to sit down, free style paint and be okay with whatever comes out — but they don’t understand that when Coleymojo sits down to paint she starts with a dain`ty water color type thing and ends up wrist deep finger painting with all sides of the color wheel in on the action.
Anyway, what I HAVE done is a creepy, useless sculpture.
And I love her! I almost want to do nothing else with her but have her beside my bed and call her my muse. I like holding onto her, feeling the smooth spots interrupted by a rough patch… I remember when I built her bones of wire, and how my fingers hurt trying to shape it. At one point her leg fell off. And then I was SO excited to put the clay on — I thought that would be the easy part but I spent days twisting and turning her, pushing fat around, until I looked at her one day and said, “I know we’re not done, but we’re done.”
And then I stuck her in the oven and tried not to cry. Would she survive? But this girl is a badass. Unfortunately for her the saying goes, out of the oven and into the frier…which in this case was my drunken ass dripping paint all over her with exactly zero plans.
(And I guess I was being dramatic about the painting too, because I did this at a class.)
Someone told me that if you pick one wall of a maze and follow it wherever it leads, you will eventually come to the exit. You could end up walking the entire thing, dead ends and all, but you’ll get there.
I guess I could Google it and find out if it’s true. But I’ve come this far, what would be the point in discouraging myself? I’m sure of so few things in my life… Let me have this one. Because if you mean to tell me that I’m lost…
gray sunlight in bed
a brain packed with velvet gauze
crying at its wolves