I started "packing. " It's going really well. I found my portfolio of drawings had some how been placed on the floor in the basement and now they are all water damaged and wrecked.
bye artwork.
I'm just sad... I wanted to have those drawing to show my kids that will never exist
in case of their possible existence
Anyway that was fun, so I bought an overpriced bottle of vodka and watched "Make me a super Model" for a while and then after I was a little stumbly I decided it would be a good idea to start packing my books and cds.
It was the best idea ever.
I broke off all my finger nails and found all my old sketch books and photos and scripts which instantly make me start crying even when I'm sober as they represent the time in my life when I wasn't a professional squanderer of potential.
I love making myself cry over the "bigness" of my problems.
THEY ARE THE BIGGEST PROBLEMS EVER. FUCK YOU!!!
*door slam*
Three cheers for weeping profusely. I am convinced that's why dudes die so much earlier; a lack of hissy fits will kill you.
2 comments:
I told you i didn't throw out those sketchbooks. Too bad about the stains though. You're moving to Manhattan, though!
i totally know how you feel. i feel like this all the time. all the time. in my room, on the train, squandering limitless afternoons trying to make art/bf time/oversleeping/undersleeping/recovering from hangovers/wishing i was more socially precocious/regrets/ resentment/cleaning up peoples' shit. if i were super ambitious, i'm sure i would resent myself for that too. the only solution is a drug-induced haze. but that isn't really a solution at all, is it?
ps you're really talented!
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