The Diary of Queen Mothy |
God Should Give His Receptionist a Raise written @ 8:15 PM on January 30, 2003 As irony would have it, my dad called me today. I had not been in the room, but there the blinking light on my answering machine was. As simple as an occurring thought. He said he was on his way out of town, was in the car, he wanted to talk to me, find out how I was, what I was up to. Don't worry about calling back. He didn't leave a number. I'll call again. Talk about God gift-dropping a sign, an omen, a clue, a message in less than 24 hours. Some people would kill to have His number like I do. My intuition told me that he probably wanted to discuss my plans for Mom's birthday, probably wanted to know if I would come home that Thursday before I left for New York. If that's the case, then my situation is heart-breaking indeed. But in light of this latest development, I am going to stay out of my parents' failing marriage, just for now, and take the advice of Christine and Jessica. I did have a plan, that plan is sitting in the shelf of the back of my mind in easy reach still, but I'm going to hold my tongue. *** I am exhausted down to the very marrow of my bones. I hardly have the energy to attempt to write this English paper on my grandfather. I need to rest, but I have so much work to catch up on. But today did have its little blessings. In my art concepts class, the painting professor gave a presentation on his work. He's a landscape painter by merit, and his work was so beautiful that it almost moved me to tears. There was this one painting he did of an autumn sunset over a field. The sky was vast and the light had the dimming power of a day ending, what with pale golds invaded by opaque dusk, and the clouds roving across the spance were executed so delicately. There was no finer poetry than those clouds. And it was like, as you looked at the painting, that you could hear the rustling of the stiff leaves on the trees, like staunch stakes in the ground, that you could move your hands through the field and grasp the wild weeds growing there. And suddenly I wanted to paint and draw so badly. I wanted to go out to a simple pond on a rainy day and paint the changes and ripples in the water like he did. I have not done such serious art in a long time, and I fear I won't be able to do it for a long time more. These are dark days for me-- for sure!-- and it would give me such pleasure to pull out my largest canvas and paint even those ugly apartment buildings from my window. But I can't. I'm too tired. I haven't the time. I'm lonely and angry because Brian left me after the reading of the play I'm stagemanaging to go eat with other people from theater, when he said he would go with me. I'm confused with some parts of my life, or too impatient to wait for things to happen that will determine what course it will take. I have to write this paper on my grandfather, and it will make me too sad. I have done all I can and I go without regrets. For that I am grateful. What's horrible is that it's too soon in the month for this to be PMS! Ahhh, what am I to do? Thank God tomorrow is Friday. I have only two classes, plan to go out to lunch with Jamie-- my 32-year-old scenic painting how-to-deal-with-Ron mentor-- go to a production meeting at 2, work in the scene shop until dinner, and then do some work and relax tomorrow. Well, today wasn't bad as I make it out to be, though. It's just some thoughts I've been having the past hour or so. I get through everything during the day well enough; I've noticed this only happens when I've collected my thoughts and reviewed my day... only to find out I was concentrating too much to be miserable. It's either fate or coincidence that I wore my Les Miserables T-shirt today. The symbolism in my life astounds me. Tomorrow will be a better day.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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