The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Hissing Cockroaches written @ 9:05 PM on April 28, 2004 Usually I don't remember my dreams, but-- oh boy--- a few nights ago I had a doozy. Humor ensues: I was restless Monday morning, and I woke up at one point and saw that my clock read sometime before seven. And I knew that my roommate Tricia would be up soon because she has an 8am class. I fell back to sleep. (dream sequence here) Next thing I know I'm looking at my clock, and it reads just before seven and the light in the room had not changed. I roll over to go to sleep in my dream when I hear Tricia say suddenly, "Sam, there's a cockroach by your pillow." Our beds are bunked, so the only conceivable way that could occur was if the cockroach was perched on the wall next to my pillow. I look up, and sure enough, there's this hulking black cockroach that cranes its neck enough like the weird aliens do in Men in Black, and all of a sudden it starts hissing at me like a cicada. If you're from Cincinnati, you know that "cicada season" is almost upon us. So maybe it was my subconscious reacting to that fact. I said, "Dude, why the hell are you hissing like a cicada?" And then the cockroach begins chasing me around the dorm room, still hissing like a cicada! I start yelling for Tricia to get the fly swatter or something, but she just rolls over in her bed and moans, "It's too early for this, Sam..." Finally I run out the door-- without my keys, of course, so now I'm locked out in my dream-- and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Whoo," I huff. The hissing returns. And the cockroach crawls under the door and rears to attack. Now get this-- I JUMP UP ON THE DOOR KNOB to get away, the way that the cartoons do when they want a door to stay shut. And for some reason I am safe because it doesn't occur to the cockroach to chase me up the door. Tricia calls, "Sam! You don't need to be up this early! You don't have class until 11!" "Tricia!" I cry. "Do something dammit!" And then my friend Heather came by in the dream and stomped on gooey cockroach. "Mornin' Sam!" she says. Then I woke up. I looked at the clock, and it read just before seven. Now, if dreams are supposed to detail what goes on in your subconscious, how in the hell do you explain my insecurities? *** Welp, my interview for the theatre tomorrow has been cancelled for the time being due to committments or something on the art director's part. Ah well. Sometime next week we shall see. *** In painting class we are working on painting portraits and human figures. I've knocked a few portfolio pieces out in a few days, I think. My professor seems to have been pleased. I'm trying to get my studio space renewed for next semester, though, and to do that I need a good excuse to keep it-- and my professor's signature (my professor deals out the studios). As a graphic design major, They (the "system") see very little logic in giving an advanced painting/drawing studio to someone who will be holed up in the computer labs for the rest of her academic career. But in an effort to skirt by the system, as is sometimes my happy talent, I politely asked for my professor's John Hancock anyway to apply for a studio renewal. "Are you taking another painting class?" he asked, his puppy dog eyes growing wide and glittery and hopeful. "Um... no, not next semester but possibly later," I said. I added when he looked a little confused, "I'm trying to clear some classes for my major so I can apply for BFA status by next spring." "Oh," he said, "you're a drawing major." I began to grow tense. "Um, no, not exactly. Actually, I'm a graphic design major." He looked even more confused. "You are?" I could practically smell what he was thinking: Just what the art world needs... Another graphic designer. But he signed my renewal form, and class began. There was a model today, and I began to lay out my composition on my canvas. About two hours into the painting, I had a good portion of it finished, using my new colorist style that I've been steadily developing all year. I was a little startled when my professor sat down next to me. "I think you should change your major," he said in a matter of fact tone. I laughed uneasily because some of my professional friends have been giving me hell all year about going into graphic design and not painting. They roll their eyes every time they remember/I say something about it. "You're not the only one who thinks so," I said. "And you have theatre as another major too, right? Just imagine getting up every day for the rest of your life to go and paint," he said, lightly trying to coax me. "Well, that's why I'm also doing graphic design. It would help my scenic design in the long run. The design process for both professions are the same. I'm doing it for practicality's sake," I answered. One promotes the other, you see. And I've been commissioned a bunch of times to do graphics for different places and organizations already. I could succeed no matter what I go in to. I half-mindedly began to stroke more color on my painting. "But you've got it," he said. I paused and looked at him. "I mean," he said, looking me in the eye and gesturing toward my piece, "you've got what it takes. You could make it. You could be a successful painter." I could already feel the color rising in my face. "Oh. T-thanks." "You could make it," he said again. "I can do both," I said. "Graphic design and painting. Painting is just as important to me as anything that I do. That's why I would like the studio space again. So I don't lose this." "I see," he said, and then he began to critique my progress on the painting. His words reverberated throughout the rest of my day, though. I hate it when teachers tell me these things. First of all, it instills false hope; God knows what's in my future. God knows where I'll be five years from now. Time changes faster than the weather around here. Secondly, it makes me lazy. Third-- and worst of all-- it makes me second guess and doubt myself. I have been sure of myself since the day I was born. I rarely doubt or regret anything. There is no going anywhere except forward. But now I could "make it." Two little words that have meant the world to so many. Two words that can change everything. In order to "make it," I have to forget he ever said those things to me. *** The theatre formal is Monday night. Good ol' Andrew is my date of sorts. We're going shopping tomorrow so he can match my 18th century courtier gown. We're going to be two interesting people out on Monday night, suffice it to say. Until then, there is a lot to do before I take my final exams.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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