Sometimes I like people.
Today has been one of those days.

Adding it to the list.

:)

I require excessive amounts of sleep.
Ex-cessive.
And yet, here I am. Wide awake at just-past-midnight.
Pretty is at work. I'm not really lonely though. Surprising, yeah?
I was just thinking that I've been enjoying the alone time, actually.
Caught up on some trashy TV, plucked my eyebrows, completely coated my parched skin in Bliss Body Butter, bought more lovelies from Etsy without the proper funds to do so...

So, this is when I am supposed to discuss the New Year.
I don't wanna.
Not really a fan of this particular holiday to be honest. I don't so much care for boozing, boozed up people, crowds of people, loud noise, or celebratory nonsense in general.
The pressure to come up with ways to improve my lifestyle isn't appreciated either.
I suppose I just want to come up with these things naturally...so I don't have to be so damned disappointed in myself needlessly.
Also, I'm fairly content with how things are going now.
You know, for the most part.
Whatever.
Anyway.

I obsess over stupid shit.
Constantly.
The same crap runs through my head all day long.
Not always worries or complaints though.
I inherited a citrine stone about a year ago.
Sort of a random thing to inherit.
People keep planning to have it put into a piece of jewelry, but never do.
So now it's been passed to the next generation, in hopes of someone being slightly less lazy.
"Here, Courtney. You make jewelry...find a brilliant and gorgeous way to showcase this treasure from generations past."
No pressure or anything. Geez.

I'm scared to attempt what no one else has manged to do, since I have no talent and all.

Sleep?

Ambien, why must you fail me??

I miss this.
Don't tell anyone.
Got a pessimistic crabby ass rep to maintain.

But really...is this home for me?
It's an awkward question and currently impossible to answer.

Photo by Pretty, obviously. Like I would ever allow myself to be this high off the ground, let alone surrounded by snow with little/no escape. Just a sprained ankle waiting to happen.
Duh.

And that's a porcupine in those trees. Fuckin' wilderness, I tell you. Not a cactus or lizard in sight.

Uh.
Pretty has a dumb work schedule. He's been working the overnight shift quite a bit and it makes me sad. Duh, of course it does.
Please do not attempt to murder me, creepers of the world. I live around extremely nosey old people, have a super-scary canine, and sleep with a loaded gun and a machete.
Yep. I'm pretty hardcore. Don't believe me? Well, I hope you like stab/gun-shot/dog-bite/old-lady-induced wounds then.
What?!
Unnecessary...

I got a steam mop. The resulting excitement has been excessive. I'm adding it to the list of things that make me happy:

1. Pretty
2. Ginny Love Puppy
3. Painting from class
4. Steam mop

I don't effing care if my list is dull. I'm dull. It suits me, dammit.

I was in an awesome almost-arty mood a few days ago and decided to sketch randomness on canvas to see what happened. I work best this way. Again, super hardcore.
I dug out my last canvas, fueled with motivation and creative energy, and inspected it because it's been in storage for over a year.
M-Effing COCKROACH dead inside.
Disgusting.
So, I obviously screamed and threw it across the room and didn't go near it again until Pretty was home and plucked the little bastard out for me. Love Puppy looked at me like I was ten shades of crazy, but I sure as heck didn't see her trying to remedy this devastating situation. Goddamn dog shouldn't judge.
It was traumatic.

My frequent headaches are getting unreasonable again. Seriously wishing a cause could be determined. My liver is shot from pain meds and I'm sure the ol' esophagus would appreciate a little less vom in the morning. Just sayin'.

Someone please build me a walk-in closet.
When I first typed that, I wrote "walking closet". Psh. Wish my closet walked. Hello, convenience.

Stopping now.

It's 1 PM and I haven't eaten yet. This is nothing new, I frequently forget to eat. Yes, forget. It is never intentional. In fact, I always start the day with the intent of eating. I just forget. Swears. Anyway. So now I've got the shakey-shakes and I feel like ew and I cannot address this issue because I am supposed to meet with someone any minute now (I'm at work). So I am sitting here, with my shakey-shakes, trying to convince myself that Baked Lays are yum, as they are the only food available currently.

Fact: I am no good at taking care of myself. Never have been. I'll do this adorable thing where I say I'm going to take time off to rest and recuperate, but never end up relaxing at all. I worry. And find projects that I feel obligated to complete. And sit around with my worries, thinking of something irritating Pretty did, which wouldn't seem nearly as bad if I weren't just sitting at home.

...My point? I just remembered that I have ten work-days until I am off from work and free to do whatever pleases my little soul.

I need a plan. A plan to enjoy my time off. Yes, that sounds ridiculous. Of course. I am a ridiculous person.

So yeah...needs a plan. Will be thinking about this.

The world spins madly on

I still love this- one of the rare exceptions to the "I dislike everything I make because I have no talent" rule.



It came out exactly like I wanted it to, which doesn't happen too frequently. It took approx. 25 hours of studio time to complete and was exhausting to work on- mostly due to my obsessive-compulsive need to make everything perfect. The oils had to be mixed to the right color/tone (which takes forever) and the lines had to be clean. I spent hours with my nose almost touching the canvas, trying to make everything exactly right.
When I submitted this to my professor, I was proud of myself.
No, really. I swear.
I had made something perfect.
I can look at it and not find flaws.
I don't even care if other people like it.
This can be added to the list of things that make me happy.

List as of now:
1) Pretty
2) Ginny Love Puppy
3) Flat painting from Spring '08 Studio Painting course

(Also, I made that canvas all by myself. Doubles the accomplishment, if you ask me)


See...said something positive, all by myself.

Ayo Technology

My need to spend has been overwhelming lately.
For sure, yo.
Someone please take Etsy from me. Seriously. I buy a few inexpensive things and think "Congrats on the restraint, self. How's about you buy yourself something sparkly as a reward?"
And repeat.
All weekend.
So...the good news is I have 8 new presents for myself to look forward to. The bad news is...nothing. Fuck it. I love presents.

The art studio is proving to be an exciting little project. I think this is mostly because I've never had a space that I could decorate however I want.
Always spent too much time/energy pleasing others. I know, right? Go figure.
I've been wanting to make that space art-y since we moved in, but to have actual, functional supplies...oh man. The authenticity gives me chills.
Also, methinks there will be lots of junk-shop-hunting to be done. Favorite.

I love my grandparents.
And my Christmas tree.
Am I the only one who hasn't really acknowledged that we're at the end of a decade? I had to be informed. Am I oblivious or does this just not matter and people should lay off the VH1?
Most likely both.
I had Ben and Jerry's ice cream and Babybel cheese for dinner. Ima grown up.

I can't wait for Christmas to be over. Dumb.
Perhaps if money/people/responsibilities weren't so sucky...
Feeling obligated is not the best reason to spend time with people.
Obviously...?

Sleepy.

(PS, how did I not know that The Lovely Bones is a movie now?)

The Crazy Head

I have lost the ability to verbally communicate.
This is unfortunate, seeing as I verbally communicate for a living.
I think this is some sort of sign from the Creative Powers That Be. Fate, or the planets or whatever else makes things happen (but not life, that's just too logical) is clearly trying to tell me something.

I've always been 150% better at writing than speaking. Yes, I can surpass my own intelligence in written form. I should be effin' studied.
Even when I was little, I didn't like to talk. I am incredibly shy and self-conscious, and knowing that everyone (whether 2 people or 200) can hear my voice is horrifying to me. I don't want people to hear my voice. Or say my name. Or talk about me. Ever. I know that's weird- my shrink bills are outrageous.

Reading and writing were always very comforting as I was growing up. I didn't like to be around groups of kids, so I would read while everyone else terrorized the neighbors with Super Soakers. I didn't feel lonely because I was still entertained and found companionship in the characters and stories.
I've spent most of my life absorbed in my own mess of never ending thought. The way my mind works is hard to explain. I can be completely oblivious to the world around me because I'm too busy thinking about other things to notice. However, I can also be excessively observant, most likely so I can have fresh material to over-analyze in my Crazy Head later on.
I have a constant dialogue in my mind. It can be really entertaining for me, I crack myself up, and a lot of what I write about stems from this. I think having that as a point of reference is what makes my struggle to effectively speak to people so frustrating. I have the witty thoughts, intelligent remarks, etc, but actually saying these aloud is never as effective.


I think I'm trying to make a point here...


I have gotten to the point at work where I will get really frustrated with myself because I cannot express what I'm thinking. And it doesn't improve in casual settings either- I've been having a hard time talking to Pretty as well. I'll try to tell him about my day but I can't find the right words to illustrate what I'm thinking.
The longer this goes on and the worse it seems to get, the more I realize that I need an outlet. I miss writing. I miss reading even more. I would do some pretty extreme/illegal things just to have time to read a book and be left alone.

The latest Harry Potter movie came via Netflix this week. I have issues with the movies, but I'll save that rant for another day. As cliche as it seems now, I'm obsessed with Harry Potter. Ob-freakin-sessed. My number one defense, as the Too Cool For School crowd collectively roll their eyes, is that I started reading this series when I was 13. There was a lot of awful shit going on in my life at this time. These stories have been so important to me these last 12 (oh GOD) years, not just because they are well thought-out and written (they really are) but also because they've created this comforting Safe Place.
Pretty isn't a reader, bless his heart. When the last HP book came out, he made me tell him how it all ends because he likes the story, just not the having-to-pick-up-a-book part. So after we finished the movie last night, he wanted to discuss how things were linked and what was coming next, etc. I was annoyed. Why? Because fucking pick up a book, a-hole, that's why.
God I'm rambly today.
I started reading the books to him last night. I figure we can both benefit from this- he gets to hear the whole story and not just what can be squeezed into a 2-hour movie, and I get to read again while also speaking.
Win/win?

In summary, I need to read again. And write. And keep track of the useful thoughts for future blogs/ art projects. And get my art studio up and moving.

Easier said than done?

Stalkercize

So...that last one was sort of a bummer.
Dumb.
Anyway.

I am in the process of creating an art studio in my home.
I don't really know where this process is going, exactly. I do know that my couch was sold yesterday and now I have an empty room, screaming its possibilities at me.
Yes, screaming.
I'm allowed to hear voices in my own home.

So, I'm at work right now.
Bloggin' on my lunch break, no big deal.
There is constant stress at my job. Even when I work extra hours and organize the crap out of every little thing, it still isn't enough.


Whatevs.


When I got home from work last night, I was greeted by a love note from Pretty that went from the ceiling to the floor. It was awesome. "I love you so much, I don't have the imagination to express its Grand-Canyon-Like size." I love him. He makes me happy.

I like being happy :)

Boo

I am having a quarter life crisis.
I have no idea what to do about it.

I spent the first 24 years of my life pursuing one career goal and now I'm not sure if that's really what I want to do.
On most days, I feel like I'm having a constant panic attack. My anxiety levels are out of control and I don't relax when I'm home because I don't feel like I have anything to look forward to.

God I'm whiny.
At least I have a job and health insurance and a car and a home.
I can afford to fund every basic need.
But I'm still not happy.

That's effing dumb.
Really.

So yeah...quarter life crisis. Definitely having one.

Here's the thing

I decided to start a new blog today. Why, you ask?

1. My current blog doesn't "Feel Right"
2. I'm incapable of committing to anything
3. Because I can, can, can- what's with the judgment?

So...me (I always feel the need to do this. Awkward?)

I'm not very nice. At least not all the time.
I like pretty things. And legit people. But usually not people that say things like "legit".
I write incomplete/broken thoughts. Deal with it.
I currently regret putting peppermint lotion on my feet, as they are now needlessly freezing.
I'm kind of a negative gal. I think it's funny. Other people typically don't.


Today I went to the 4th Ave street fair with Pretty (the boyfriend) and some buddies. I'm kinda bummed because I ended up going with dogs (?) and people that wanted to power-walk, not casually browse. I'd been looking forward to the casual browsing. And the food. Oh god, the food. Is there anything better than Fair Food? Doubting this. I didn't get to enjoy the food much because it was ungodly crowded and the power-walking made me tired and needing to sit more than pick something awesome/drool-worthy to munch on. So I ate what was in front of me. Which was still pretty yum, but not what I would have chosen. Also, I did not get kettle corn, which equals a waste of a Street Fair Experience, if you ask me. Shit. Now I'm hungry.

Pretty bought me a cinnamon-scented soy candle at the fair, which smells delish and coordinates well with the aroma of the REAL Christmas tree currently residing in my living room. I haven't had a REAL, LIVING Christmas tree since I was little. My new found hunger keeps me from detailing my thoughts on the Real vs Artificial Christmas tree debate, but to sum it up: I think the real ones are a waste of natural resources and are too much work for something you'll have for three weeks. HOWEVER, this one has made my house smell amazing and Pretty promises to assume all watering/pine-needle-sweeping/discarding responsibilities. So I reckon it's fine.

Now, I feast.