Mentorship and Milo

My new roommate Milo has deleted this post twice, but he would like to point out that the escape key on a Mac is near the charging port which is the warmest part of the computer. Milo would also like to point out that he excellent at cuddling and that should make up for the deletion of my work.

 The offender. I’m not sure why I haven’t done this cat thing before this.

The offender. I’m not sure why I haven’t done this cat thing before this.

I didn’t get a chance to write yesterday because I didn’t get internet until midnight, and it was too late at that point to even think about putting sentences together. Especially after moving and building my bed (I’m pretty proud of myself I built my bed alone and it is still standing up. Granted the join points were pretty clearly marked, but there’s a pride in doing something that works.

Yesterday I was going to write about the mentorship that I have received throughout my life, especially by women. I went to meet a mentor from high school, and where I am in my life is not exactly a time where I want to be like HEY look at what I’ve done, but of course this is ridiculous because the reason these people were my mentors to begin with was because they did so generously and without judgement. I think about the women, non-binary folk, and male allies at the capitol right now fighting for our rights and I am reminded that we can also make a difference in our direct communities. My life would have gone so differently if I hadn’t met the right people at the right time, and I’m sure I would have met different people at the right time, but I’m grateful for the ones I’ve got. I truly believe that each person your life touches for more than a few minutes has the opportunity to change you a little, and then there’s the lives that intertwine with yours for just a little while that change you a little more, and then there’s those that you can put a dot on the timeline when they facilitated a change in your life. I’ve been lucky enough to have a few of each that have really affected the way I make art and treat other people, and treat myself.

It was a tough day today, I’m at that point with my therapist where I would usually bolt and run, but I think I’m going to stick it out this time despite the fact that it’s so raw. I like her, she calls me on shit, and she doesn’t let me try to distract her. That’s the theme of this blog, commitment, even if I never write about it, just the act of doing it every is a pretty big deal for me. So I’m hoping that seeps into the rest of my life.

I finished writing this post and then my good friend and new roommate Milo deleted it all. I didn’t get a chance to write yesterday because I didn’t get on the internet until midnight. Milo would like to not apologize but he would like to point out that he’s excellent at cuddling and really just wanted to put his head on the warm part of the computer. He also keeps trying to swat at the Squarespace icon on my desktop.

 the pretty adorable offender

the pretty adorable offender

Anyway, I don’t want to write the whole thing out again, so I’m going to paraphrase myself. It’s been a sleepy quiet day, and I might unpack some more boxes (which is more than I ever did at the other place). I might continue to nap, idk the rain and the cat is a pretty good combo. I’m not sure why I’ve never done this before. `

T

future apocalypse survivors

There are a lot of weird not all bad complications in my life right now. Actually some of them are good complications, but it’s making it very difficult to focus on one topic so I guess we’re just going to see where this goes. I was supposed to finish moving today, but I didn’t. I’ll do it tomorrow and I’m okay with that. It’s a more leisurely day anyway Sundays are quite tiring. Weirder people have weirder questions on Sundays for some reason. Also not all bad, but always weird.

I am just so tired, so I’m thinking this might be it for this writing project tonight. I am working on some letters from future apocalypse survivors for a show that I’m involved in, so at least there’s art getting done, even if it is by my very tired hand, and brain that needs the background noise of a show I’ve watched a million times in order to get to the task at hand.

Anyway, see you on the flip side, is not something I say ever.

goodnight

peace.

(also I click baited this shitty entry and I’m so sorry)

License Plate Game: Some Retail Hell

I thought ahead this Saturday because of how draining last Saturday was, and I wrote my piece in the car before my shift. It’s Christmas season already, like it’s not, but it actually is. Christmas season in retail is like war you come out a changed person. A more hardened person. A person who’s feelings can only be hurt by themselves and sometimes crazy forty-five year old white woman (seriously ladies we need to check ourselves).

Anyway. I’ve been playing the license plate game but with my own rules. Only on my commute to and from work, and never trucks (I think this is an actual rule, it’s been a while). So far I have New Jersey, New York, Nevada, Florida, Pennsylvania, Quebec, Maryland, California, Alabama, Tennessee, Virginia, Massachusetts, and a government plate. It’s a game that is kind of low to medium levels of fun, but it passes the time, I don’t even take the parkway. I wanted to write about something big picture here, how I want to use these vehicles that we are all together but apart in, no matter where you’re from. Things fade away in the car. We are all stuck on the hellscape that is Route 17 in New Jersey (I would like to point out here that it is Route 17 not New Jersey that is the hellscape).
I like to imagine what other people do in their cars, like do they make up stupid games like I do? Do they judge other people’s bumper stickers as harshly as I do? Keep it simple people, no name calling, no tiny print because then I can’t decide if I should be judging you based on your bumper sticker choices. I’ve got time to kill on the road so anything to keep me busy. Being on the road has always been perceived as extremely romantic, and for some it is, they get to see different places and meet new people whenever they travel. For most of us though it’s driving back and forth on the same highway five days a week. We’ve gotta entertain ourselves somehow. I also judge people on their car choices, but in the opposite way, I like a good shitty car. I own a good shitty car. Spend enough time driving back and forth in Bergen County you get to know that certain types of people drive certain types of cars. Just like I can tell which zip you’re going to give me based on the way you treated me while I was designing for you. It’s a fun really stupid hobby of mine, and of course there are exceptions to every rule.
I thought I’d write about something light and a little catty tonight, this ended up being a different entry than what I wrote in my journal. Humans exhaust me. Sometimes I do not have the energy to explain what fifteen inches looks like versus thirteen, when you are holding a measuring tape in your hand and can very clearly see the difference. This was a real ten minute conversation that I had tonight, but then the person says something sweet and all of that pent up rage has to go somewhere, so it turns into exhaustion. If I could yell at one customer a month I think I might start aging slower, maybe my ankle would return to it’s former glory.

Tell People You Love Them

I respond to tragedy the same every time. Almost to the hour. First I feel nothing, then I feel a lot, but my intuition is to keep trying to feel nothing, then I finally let myself feel it and then I feel better. If anyone has a word that means having an incredible amount of self awareness but using none of it, that’s probably the word that you’d use to describe me. I give great advice but I’m shit at taking it myself. Today I stood in the shower for what felt like an hour (it was probably 20 minutes) making the water hotter and hotter while I stared at this odd tile. Trying to form words or thoughts or like even move a little bit, all I could think about how boring this tile was, like why flowers in grey tones, why are there two different very distinctly shaped leaves? Where is the center of that one flower because the dots are all over the fucking place. Also the highlights are just weirdly placed?

See I just gave you 49 words on that tile and I don’t even like it. The brain is a weird place.

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Not my best work, but it’s a tile, it is boring. Grief is weird. I tried a couple of times to put words to what it feels like but there’s not really anything in my brain that can put those feelings into words. Like new wounds next two and intertwined with the freshly healed ones, but that’s kind of gruesome and I don’t want any of you to take me literally.
When I was driving home today I thought about all the little and big and gigantic connections I have made with people in the past few years. I think the last three years of my life I have made connections or deepened old ones more than I ever have before. I let myself lean on people, people leaned on me. I learned lessons from people I never thought I’d be close to. I mended broken parts of friendships, and formed new intense strange bonds that I never saw coming. I am a person who really likes to be alone, but I am also a person who’s feeling a lot of love for the people around me right now, because man can it all disappear in a second. Today I am happy for gratitude in spite of deep deep grief, and a knowledge that all of our webs are so much stronger than we think they are. Hold each other close. Tell people you love them. The shit is not as deep as it looks. Trust me, I’ve trudged through some pretty deep shit.

(I really wanted to name this piece “Pretty Deep Shit” but I felt it would be tasteless and click-bait-y, also I like you to read to the end and putting weird stuff like that gives you a treat for sticking with me through some of the darker stuff)

Home

This has been a blank page for a long time, it’s not because I don’t have anything to say, I have a lot to say but very little organization in my thoughts tonight. I try to not write about my day, because it’s boring and repetitive, and if I told you the exciting things that happen at my job I’d have a lot of really angry Bergen County Ladies try to get me fired. Seriously retail is wild. I am once again at a transitional point in my life, moving again, from one place to another. I lived in the same place for a very long time, and then I lived in the next place for a very long time, so this displacement is uncomfortable, but welcome for now. However if I have to move again anytime soon I think I might just choose my car, I have a good sleeping bag.

I never really felt like this current apartment was home, it is cold and too quiet. It was a place to hang my hat until I figured out what to do with myself. After my grandmother died everything was kind of ripped away all at once. I needed a reset, and that’s what I got here. I know this new place will be better for me, because it already feels better for me. The concept of home for me is so imprinted in my mind as a blue house with a massive evergreen in the front yard, sometimes I wonder if that tree is still there. The tree my brother and I used to hide under and try to climb through its thick branches. I also wonder what color they painted my walls, which I stubbornly insisted on a deep deep red, which admittedly later gave me some satisfaction when I realized how hard it is to cover red. Sometimes I think about the times my friends and I would spend hours in that basement, we grew up there, I wonder if the new owners have kids that spend hours in the basement with their friends.

But that is no longer mine, and it hasn’t been for a very long time, and no I will never go back to see if that tree is still there, because for me it will always be. It has to be. I have become a bit of a chameleon though, it happened very quickly, it’s become almost a game for me to create home around me wherever I am. Whether it’s some small comforts that end up where I do, immediately finding a good bakery, or holding my loved ones closer to me when I need to do a little leaning on them for a while.

I will be back tomorrow with more babbling or a poem or maybe a letter from a fictionalized survivor of the impending apocalypse.

remember that there are people who love you beyond comprehension

take care of each other

with love

bri

Rules because I am too tired to think of anything else.

Yesterday I went out and photographed for the first time in a very long time. You saw those few photos on yesterday’s post if you read it. I think I have a very good memory for useless things but a very bad one for important things. For example, I chose photography over finishing my degree on time. What am I doing? Why do I keep forgetting how much I love it?

Anyway I think since I actually seem to be committed to this writing project I should set some ground rules for myself.

*I am allowed to break any of the rules I want because I am making this up as I go along

  1. I have a bad habit of over explaining statements that I feel might be sensitive. I will no longer use up my space to apologize. If you disagree I would be glad to discuss with you at any length.

  2. I will write every day. *if there’s a crisis, this doesn’t count

  3. I will try to keep it varied, no one wants to read my diary. Hell I don’t even want to read my diary

  4. Photography will have to come with this project.

Resilience

I promised a more uplifting subject matter a couple of days ago and so far I have not come through on that promise. Before I attempt something resembling positive thinking, I’d like to thank those of you who reached out to me, feeling recognized is incredibly powerful.
Today I drove all over New Jersey, I had a job interview, I had to meet a cat, and I started my move to the new apartment, small steps turning into big ones. I feel good about it, terrified of course, but I feel good. I get places early, and today I decided to leave straight from therapy at 10:00 to go to the interview at 3:00 and sit in my car and write or draw or whatever. Then the interview got rescheduled so now I’ve got around five hours to kill before I meet the cat, so I drive there with my dying phone and I find a nature reserve right next to where I was parked. It was raining but I decided to take the walk anyway, something told me it would be a good idea.

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This is what I got, it was quiet and beautiful and even though I got soaked it was definitely worth the being absurdly early to things. This little haven in the middle of nowhere New Jersey got me thinking about the resilience of humans, not only how much we can take, but also how well we bounce back. Being a writer and an artist I collect people’s stories, when they let me in it’s an honor, so I know what people have gone through or are going through and we still live, or we try our damnedest to for as long as we can. I have seen the darkest parts of both my own soul and other’s around me. I do not judge. It is human. I don’t believe in miracles, but I do believe in things that I can see and hear and touch, and the ability to bounce back from tragedy has got to be one of the saddest but most amazing things about being a human being, and it is certainly something I can see and hear and touch. . I will not pollyanna this though, there are some things a person cannot come back from, and often that ends tragically and painfully. When that happens though, the person is losing the battle to an illness that has been around for a long time. I believe strongly that there are more things that we can come back from. More things that seem insurmountable but really are not.

So here’s some more pictures from my short but enlightening hike. Enjoy

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I would like to point out the fact that these were made on an iphone makes me incredibly sad, but that fake bokeh looks pretty damn real to me.

It's Only Skin

When I was young and I skinned my knee I winced at the pain but also at the strange contrast between my pale skin and what imagined were some badass battle wounds. As I got older I started resenting that very same skin for becoming tough and hard on the outside, but so so vulnerable on the inside. It was like my own invisibility cloak, woven with carefully chosen words and the ability to make a present story sound like the past. Soon I was writing odes to that same skin about it’s resilience in the face of attack, I worshiped the body’s healing power without considering why it needed so much healing. I bear this well. Now I find my skin is armor, battle-worn and old news. Sometimes I yearn for the time when I first realized I was breakable, horrified and a little proud of my skinned knee, I learned to take that turn a little bit slower the next time I rode my bike. Maybe that’s what we all need, to take that turn a little bit slower the next time we ride our bikes.

Answer the Phone

I did not write yesterday. I think I have a good enough excuse for it, and this is probably the most candid I will be on this blog so if that’s not your thing move along. I think sharing this might help some people so I’ve decided to tell my story. Yesterday, I had a feeling, it was a feeling I had only had once before and it ended up causing a lot of pain, it came on so quickly, intensely and suddenly I could not stop it. It was the feeling that I was not going to survive, that I was terminal. I do not really believe in fate, but I think this time it did come in a phone call that I was, at that point, hoping would not come. In the instant I answered the darkest parts of that feeling disappeared, the interruption, the calm on the other end, and the change of pace in my thought process all pushed out the worst of the intrusiveness.
I think the lesson in this is as quickly as that true valid thought comes it can be interrupted just as quickly. That a conversation that was not pushed to be about what exactly was happening could interrupt the thought process enough to ground myself. Maybe it’s a walk, maybe it’s a long drive, maybe its being reminded you are loved. I don’t know. I got lucky yesterday. I got lucky I made the original call, I got lucky of the timing of the return.
I still don’t know what my long term fate will be, I am incredibly aware of it, I have a disorder that’s incredibly hard to treat, but I’m lucky enough that there are people willing to be that interruption without judgement, and with incredibly good timing.
I hope to be back to somewhat less intense subject matter as soon as possible, but you have to give it to me it’s been kind of a shit run. One that seems to be on a small climb up despite the brain stuff. For now though, I am here, I am aware, I am living.

A Fairy Tale in Progess

I decided to do something a little different today, this is a short story fairy tale that I’m working on about Falcon Ridge Folk Festival. At the moment it’s a little rough around the edges, but I’m hoping to find an illustrator eventually.

Also I don’t usually write fiction, so I’d love feedback on this.

Once upon a time there was a magical land that appeared once a year for three short days, the people who come every year think of it as a home of sorts; despite the fact that the weather is unpredictable and the hill is steep the anticipation of this land appearing starts the minute it disappears again. This year was an especially important for one boy, a boy who had been coming to this once a year land since before he was born. He felt at home in this place, like the many others who made their pilgrimage there he longed to see the sights and the sounds on his own. He had just had a very important birthday, he was now fourteen, the age that both he and his parents agreed was a good age for him to start his own adventure, make his own stories. It meant a lot to the boy that his parents trusted him to go and see all the wonderful things the place had to offer.
After setting up the campsite the boy wandered off, promising to be back right after the last song of the night was played from the big stage. He skipped off down the hill and the first person he saw was a Titan, directing fellow travelers to where they would find room to set up camp, the boy then walked over the troll bridge into the pop-up town he knew so well. He breathed in the smells and couldn’t pick which thing to look at first. The venders were already selling their many wonderful foods. Then he heard a few notes float over his head, the minstrels had started, they played tunes that he had heard for as long as he could remember; he hummed along while he walked down the alley to see the twirling dances, skin glowing even in the bright sunlight. It was then he realized why people called this place home, the magic had only just began. He turned onto another makeshift road only to be greeted by some friendly giants who waved hello and asked how the boy’s parents were doing. They offered him a hula-hoop and invited him to play with them, but he decided to watch from afar and get lost in the music for a little while. He liked to watch, to take everything in.
It wasn’t long that the boy noticed some clouds rolling over the mountain far far away, knowing the odds that it would start raining he pulled out a poncho. It drizzled a bit, nothing to worry about. Then, almost out of nowhere the skies opened up, he could barely, so he ran quickly towards the closest tent there was, the metalworkers tent. They were barely able to hear each other over the rain pounding on the tent, and barely able to see more than a foot in front of them, but they heard one of the giants yell, his foot had gotten stuck and the mud was getting deeper and deeper as the rain poured down. The quiet sweet boy out on his own for the first time, the boy who wanted to listen instead of play told the metalworker that they had to get him out. That they couldn’t let him get stuck any deeper. So the metalworker got the seamstress, and the seamstress got the musicians, and the musicians got the rest of the crowd, and together they all got the giant out of the mud. They rinsed off in the rain, knowing the downpour would end and the scorching sun will return to dry them all off.
The boy left, waving goodbye to the strange cast of characters he had grown quite fond of, a lot more excited to see what else this land has to offer. On his way back to the big stage he met a fairy that plays the harp, and a scarecrow with a top hat who told him all about the bees in his grand yard. As the day turned into dusk he saw the dancers again, this time glowing brightly and wearing even brighter paint around their arms. Of course as the grand finale the moon rose right over the land and the giant jellyfish that visited came out from hiding to sway to the music and play with the crowd. The last song ended and the boy hiked his way up the hill, when he entered the campsite his parents asked him how his day went. He was just about asleep but as his head hit the pillow he murmured “it was like coming home”

There is no Regular Programming

I’m off today, it’s a much needed no people no plans day. I’m getting ready to move again, this is the second time in two and a half months. I’m a little afraid to find out what the stress level is going to hit with less than ninety days in between the two. We shall see. I’m finally out of my crisis week. There’s some food, and there’s enough gas to get me to work. That’s all I can ask for at this point.

On that point, I’d like to thank everyone who donated and shared to this moving expenses disaster, I’m getting so close to my goal and I think without it I would be in, what is at the moment unthinkable trouble. I don’t know what I deserved to have such beautiful, generous, kind people in my life bit I cannot thank you all enough. Hit me up sometime if you ever need some photographs, we can work something fun out.

I suppose the last few days have felt a little more diary entry type posts, I am at the moment of a weird crossroads in my life and to process it here in a “how do I make this palatable” way has been helpful to processing everything. I’d say we’d be back to regular programming soon, but as history has shown us here there is no regular programming. I like to keep my now seven consistent readers on their toes Ya’ll keep me coming back.

Only the Strong Survive

I’m trying to come up with something that doesn’t sound like I’m making excuses for myself and that doesn’t come across as “woe is me”, because the chaos that has surrounded my life for the last ten plus years seems to have no end in sight. Of course there are really wonderful days, weeks, sometimes even months, but the slew of bad luck even when I’m doing everything right has got me yearning for a cabin in the woods with very little outside communication. Being in your 20’s nowadays is just a strange purgatory where you think you know what you want, but there’s no guarantee you’re going to get it our if you do get it you’re going to have to trudge through miles of shit. Add a mental illness, some poverty, and extreme nihilism and boom you’ve got yourself a 20 something.

I’m lucky though. My circle has closed significantly, but those that are left, well there aren’t really accurate words to describe how much they mean to me. No matter how sad or what kind of mood swing my brain has decided to gift me on the rare occasions the medication isn’t doing it’s job, I know that there are people out there that care deeply and are willing to listen. One of my biggest fears is that I’m a burden on those people, I do the best I can to listen as much as I talk, but for those of you who know me I like to talk, especially if I can get away with distracting from what I really need to discuss.

I joke with my other mentally ill friends that only the strong survive being close with us. We are exhausting. I am the first to admit that, no one likes being around a sad person or an irrational person or a very impulsive person. This is a fact that took me years and years to accept, and years and years more to mourn and resent the friends that could not handle it; I do not resent them anymore. The strong survive though. They bring you to the movies after your grandmother passes. They tell you they love you and you believe it. They force you out of your house in pajamas to bring you to McDonalds because you haven’t eaten. They make a secret facebook group to discuss an issue that you can’t handle and invite you after they’ve brainstormed solutions. They treat you to lunch and reassuring conversation even though they can tell you don’t 100% buy into the future that they are painting you. They know when you need human touch. They know when you absolutely do not need human touch. They speak from experience and hope.

The most terrifying thing about having a mental illness now is that the future was always uncertain, there’s not a zero sum chance that I won’t end my life, or end up hospitalized long term. I do not want to now, and I have not truly wanted to in a very long time. I like living. I’m about 70% stable and that’s pretty fucking great (if you knew me before you would understand), but illness is unpredictable. On top of that uncertain future we are also dealing with an uncertain future on this planet.

But I have my people. When my mind twists and turns like it has been for weeks now, I still have my people. Maybe they give me a joke, maybe some reassurance, and maybe some real understanding. They are the strong, they have survived this particular storm.

My $25 Month

I don't know what to write about today because there are so many things going on in my personal life, I'm having a hard time separating that from these supposed mini art pieces where I am not supposed to be using it as a diary of sorts. But things the past week and a half have been kind of scary, I think I finally know what it's like to be in true poverty. I've been poor for a long time, but the past week and a half I've been experiencing real poverty. It's exhausting. Between being hungry all the time, and being at a low energy point in the cycle that is the chronic illness inevitable fate. I'm ready for a large meal and a nap. 

I think the good thing is that this level of poverty I will not sit on for much longer. I think about the fact that others are not this lucky, that the next paycheck after two weeks is going to put me back on track. Not everyone is quite so lucky, many people have to pick between food, shelter,  and healthcare (sometimes life saving drugs like Insulin). I think about how lucky I am to have even the little bit of a fallback in friends and family, because not everyone has that fallback. 

This was not a political post, but of course it ended this way. Vote in the 2018 election, and push those democrats to adopt a much more progessive platform then they are currently holding. We need people who are working full time to not feel like one mistake or accident would cost them their security in life.  

Boring Beige Buick

I would like to point out that I did in fact write yesterday, but since it was just an "I'm exhausted" excuse so I did not share it with the world.

I spend a lot of time on the road, and definitely not in the romanticized Jack Kerouac kind of way, in the "holy shit I can not look at this part of route 17 ever again" kind of way. Yet, I love my commute, sure I could do with the extra sleep or the shorter gas mileage that living close would grant me, but it gives me time when I'm by myself and there's no chance of me being not by myself. It is here where I have the most intense arguments with myself, often about morality, sometimes about politics, but almost always about art. I consider this blog, I consider plans I have for the future, I consider the fact that I am usually not acting on those plans. I love those rides because I can digest my day. Once someone told me to give myself the time to feel stuff, but to put a limit on that time, so if I need to feel stuff I give myself my car ride home (I do a book or a podcast on the way to work). They aren't always weird meditations on myself and my deepest darkest feelings, I also use them once a week to talk to my brother (so I guess there is a chance they are not always alone), most of the time I use them to write. 

I'm not sure what this one is about other than the fact that it's kind of a good thing I like to drive or else I'd be a miserable person always. There are few things less depressing than NJ 17, but moving, even if it's back and forth on a miserable stretch of highway, feels good. I hope I hit home about how ugly Route 17 is, I am not kidding, we can do better than that, we've been to the moon. I digress, I guess I have a thinking spot and it's a boring beige Buick. 

I've literally got nothing tonight. I am exhausted, but expecting a really good nights sleep tonight. So I'm going to go to sleep. 

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i blink and time has passed
and for a moment as my eyes adjust
i do not recognize the cast of faces
in my crowd, below me i find is falling
fast, my heart jumps up into my throat
my fists close tightly around a rope
that crowd throws down to me, and
tied the other end to a tree, familiar
faces now in sharp view, those who were
there i see anew

This is mostly about the weather.

This is my favorite weather, it's pretty specific. Right before or right after a storm. The pressure changes so the world gets quiet. The calm before the storm. I love it in the winter before a snow storm, or immediately after it ends. Something always draws me to that silence. It is a joy to walk around in, and I love having brief encounters with the other people who are venturing outside right before they are sure to be stuck inside for a while. Then there's those of us who like to venture out as soon as it's finished to poke around before life starts again. I like pauses, breaths in my day, and a storm that keeps us all inside for a day is a pause, but right before and right after there's a burst of life. I like to live in that burst for a minute. I also like the idea of bracing for and coming out of a storm, there's some discomfort on both ends for sure. The temperature drop does not hurt the matter either, I am made for the clouds and the cold. 

Today was good. It was a good day.

how the hell do we respond to this with work?

I wrote a long time ago that I felt that for a while nothing was going to matter, and then everything was going to matter at once. I think we might be swinging readily into the latter. I've been trying to decide what to write about all day, I am extremely distracted by our democracy's impending demise, but I'm going to try to write through it anyway. It is feeling extremely apocalyptic at the moment. Like the grab as many canned goods as possible kind of thing and if the hurricane's don't take you hope that it's not the lack of healthcare that does. 

Anyway, Art, right. How the hell are we supposed to respond to this with work? Everything I come up with (at least I have ideas now right?) feels kind of trite. I feel like I need another art education, with professors to tell me how the hell to respond to this with work. Or a complete news wipe (which is not going to happen) so I can can concentrate just on work and making work. It's a wild ride to be so full of other information that there's just no room left for doing anything with it. 

The sketchbook is my friend right now. I think that's what I'm going to have to stick with for a while, it's like going back to square one. Reviewing what I was taught in college but with the frame of 2018 around it is I think my only answer. The transition moment for me was odd, I stopped working for MSU in 2016. I think what I need is a really good contemporary art history update. I don't go to enough galleries. I don't see enough work. 

Also this seems like this is going to be a central theme to these blog posts. Which makes sense because of the chaos that we're in, and the lack of formal preparation that I feel I have for it. So I guess thats you're official warning on that.

Some Politics Tonight

I'm having a hard time steering away from politics on this one, so here it goes. Yesterday, and this morning I watched the Senate Judiciary Committee's confirmation hearings of Justice Brett Kavanaugh, and as the periodic screaming protestors were dragged from the room by capitol police I thought to myself a thing I think a lot now-a-days "we're in real trouble". Now, here's the thing, Masha Gessen told me to be the hysteric in the room, and now I think is a really good time to be the hysteric. A President who's own senior staff admits he is not fit for office (we don't have time to get into why this article is a whole new level of terrifying)  is being allowed not one, but two Justices on the Supreme Court. Two people supposedly in line enough with President Trump's agenda for him to pick them, now have a lifetime appointment (granted Kavanaugh has not been appointed yet, but they supposedly have the votes) to vote on laws about women's bodies, LGBT issues, voter suppression, racial equality, the environment, the economy, and so much more. 

Here's what I saw, the democrats calling for a roll call vote to adjourn. Three republican senators recused themselves so the Judiciary Committee was 8 GOP to 10 dems. Grassley ignored the requests multiple times before saying no. All the while there are screaming women begging them to stop the hearing who are being dragged out by police. They spoke often about the constitution, but not about silencing the people who are afraid for their lives, and the lives of their loved ones. 

We are all tired. We are all marching towards the midterm elections, but we are tired. We've gotta stay awake for this one, because if it feels like we are going to be working the rest of our tired lives to undo the mess this administration has already created, imagine what it'll feel like with two lifetime appointees to the highest court. 

Call your senators about Kavanaugh. Vote in November.