prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08
2001-11-27 - 6:00 p.m.
I have to stop myself from reading other people's diaries, and then feeling so inferior that I want to give up writing completely. If I can't be, as good as you, than well, I don't want to play. How narcissitic is that?
The same thing happened to me in Art school, I would sit in front of my easel, and instead of just concentrating on the beauty of the subject matter, I was too busy getting whiplash, because I was constantly craning my neck to see how the other students work was turning out. I would feel myself crumbling on the inside, when I realized just how talented everyone was around me. I felt like an imposter, a poser trying to penetrate the cool misunderstood world of the Artiste. Shadows especially frustrated me, I could never get my shadowing right. My teacher would offer helpful adive, like, " just draw what you see" but somehow my eye would smooth out the edges, and fill in the blanks, rendering my world quite shadowless. This was all too much to bear. And warranted a change. In typical me, (typical me ) ways, I was a fashion design student for about 3 weeks, until it occurred to me, that maybe the ability to sew was a skill I *needed* to actually be a fashion design student. What I really needed was someone to counsel me, and gently steer me in the right direction. The truth hurts, but maybe it would have helped save me about 5 more misguided attempts at College Majors which I had no buisness ever even contemplating.
Flash forward 1O years. I have my mosaic of semi worthless degrees. Believe it or not they actually gave me an Associates degree in Individulized Art & design ( which really meant, look, she took every art class we offer, graduate her and clear up a space for Monet's niece)Then, I went on to Merry Old England to round out my stunning academic tour, and my run on sentences and poor verb usage be damned, they GAVE ME MY B.A in English Literature with a minor in British Studies. Don't even ask me what the minor is about, maybe because I liked to study the rush hour crowds on Oxford Street? What they really should have given me was a minor in High Street Shopping. Sometimes at night, when I can't sleep, instead of lamely trying to count sheep, I re wander the high streets, by memory, peering into all the shop windows. I liked to walk at night, when the streets were empty, and I could get a really long lingering stare into Harvey Nichols Windows. IN those moments, I think I used to feel really alone, but hopeful. Like, maybe someday, I will be the kind of person who will look like these social x ray mannequins, and dresses so elegantly that people can't help but stare and just know that I must be *somebody*
Well, I quite definately grew up to be nobody. And I still am a bit of an arty poser, and still a shallow sucker for an expensive handbag. And I am fighting the urge to stop writing, because maybe, the only way I will ever be somebody, is if I try to become somebody, to myself. Trying to write yourself into existence is not very easy.
but I am trying. I am trying. Please tell me that I exist.
old starlight - new starbright
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