The Diary of Queen Mothy |
A Dark, Sunny Day written @ 9:49 PM on October 01, 2002 I don't usually remember my dreams, but the one last night was totally bizarre. To make things even more perplexing, it can either be construed as a bad omen of things that may just pass, or the overworkings of the subconscience: I dreamt that Ronnie transferred to NKU. If that wasn't bad enough, in the dream there was a terrible thunderstorm that made us both take refuge in the library, and Ronnie began talking to me about some weird Ronnie stuff that he was known for in high school. Unfortunately, he had not changed since the tenth grade. To make things worse, though, even in my dreams I couldn't tell him "fuck you, get the hell away from me." It was like I was paralyzed into being NICE to him. Actually, the dream was more like a nightmare, and I never get those unless I feel out of control with my life. When my alarm went off, it was like glass had been shattered in my head, and I woke up with a start. I was tired from being stressed out. This morning, to top things off, I woke up feeling extraordinarily self-conscious and unsatisfied with myself. For some people, this is an everyday battle with the mirror, but I like to think that I do the best I can, and I, suffice to say, ignore the mirror. Not today, however. I looked at myself in the pale light and saw something close to a lie. It took me forty-five minutes to get ready, and before I realized it, I had missed breakfast. I rushed out the door with a Vanilla Coke and a foam plate of melted cheese crackers I cooked up in 30 seconds in that archaic microwave in the general room. Most of Drawing II was spent hanging our projects on the fourth floor art lobby. No one was especially eager to start portraiture. I wasn't in any hurry; I'm still the new person in class, and no one is especially interested in partnering up with me. It's almost embarrassing when Julie has to announce if there's anyone else without a partner, and then I get stuck in as the third wheel or whatever. Am I that intimidating/boring? Finally one of the less attractive-looking guys approached me, seeing that I looked like a wandering, lost soul. "Not all those who wander are lost..." He had shiny dark hair, almost greasy, and he was a lanky sort of fellow with an unshaved countenance and ruffled appearance. He was kind and polite, however. It was just as well that we should be partners. Soon I was lost in my drawing. He was a rather restless model. He kept looking around and checking the progress of my work. I found that annoying, but I didn't say anything. He yawned a lot, and each time he yawned, his nostrils flared, so the nose in my drawing isn't as carefully placed as it should have been. But overall, I was very pleased at the way the piece was coming. Our professor wanted us to do our portraits in the style of Chuck Close's early work. Shifting my gaze around the room a couple times, I observed that portraiture is not the collective happy talent of the class. Many of them did not know how to map out a face on the picture plane, did not know the general measurements. And my professor kept coming by and telling me how my face "looks so real, just like a photo," and people were struggling with lips and eye shapes. I just kept working on the shading, rubbing the charcoal with my fingers. That's a habit I ought to break, using my fingers. It could only hurt the paper with the mixing of charcoal and the oils from my hands, but I didn't care: I worked furiously on the shading. I thought about a lot of things. It was evident somehow that I was troubled and I was taking it out on the art. It was disconcerting that even now I am ahead of my classmates in that class. Some of them have brilliant ideas conveyed in their artwork, true, but for the most part, I have not been challenged too greatly. I hate that success. I used to crave that success, and now I can't stand to be separate from the levels of the class. But I was feeling self-conscious today. I am a face in the crowd, and yet I am not. I am in limbo. Something is about to blow up in my face. After a mere hour of drawing, I looked back and saw a portrait that was almost complete. My professor marveled at the speed and accuracy in which I worked, she said. I was strangely unhappy. Math was disastrous. We took a test in Chapter Two, and I conveniently forgot some of the important points of the material. Maid je suis sans souci. I went back to my dorm and idly did menial tasks. I figured I needed companionship; for all its sunshine, it was a dark day for me. But when dinner finally rolled around, I was eating by myself. Kayla and Amy were who knows where. Trisha went to go see "Les Mis" downtown. Brian, Derek, and Brad (although God knows I didn't want to see him) had a show to plan for and friends visiting from out of town. I finally met Brian by chance outside, and I went with him to get dinner at the University Center, and then traipsed to the second floor theater lobby. There were some actors from "La Mancha" and crewmembers gathered in the lobby, chatting simply before they went down for their make-up for the next show this evening. I sat quietly among them; they were interesting people. And funny, too. It was the only genuine laughter from me that day. When Brian had to leave for his make-up time, I went back to my room. I prayed I wouldn't run into Brad. I realized I had some work I needed to complete for other classes, and I decided the only way I could avoid Brad was to hole myself up in my room for the weekend and work on some papers that are not due until November. So here I am, at odds with myself and the world, looking for sympathy and pitying myself selfishly until I crawl out of my hole. A case of the blues, yes, but also a need for a change. In reality, I'm doing just fine; I just have some barriers that need to be overcome. I must work out my schedule for next semester. Here's a thought: How many of those kid actors in the anti-tobacco commercials smoke themselves?
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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