Bah.

My kids are driving me bat shit today. They're not actually being that bad...what the hell? THEY'RE SO AGGRAVATING!!!

Oh. Right. PMS. Stupid month.

(ETA, you'd think I'd learn...every 28 days for the last...what? 12+ years or so? Sheesh. You'd think that running out of pills for the month would give me a frickin' clue.)

Out in the Aether

While I was in the produce section today, I noticed a woman kneeling/crouching beside a display, her shoulders shaking. I picked up a mango, then looked back. No one was helping her...they were sort of staring and then avoiding her. Normally, I'd do the same thing; I think most people would. It's hard to get involved with someone who is in the middle of whatever private hell they've got going on. For some reason, I didn't.

Her name is Ashley. Snuggled into the hood of her puffy jacket, she told me that she had lost her shopping list, which also contained the directions for how to get to the apartment of her friend, from which she had just come. She couldn't remember if she was in Safeway or Save-On, or which direction to go after she left the store. I helped her get her groceries and pay for them, while another shopper, a man, trailed us at a discreet distance, obviously concerned for my safety. He and I exchanged glances a couple of times, him worried about me, me worried about her. She kept thanking me, obviously embarassed, teary, scared. While we got her items, she told me that she had had a brain haemorrage.

After I got her through the checkout, I finished my shopping and left the store. It had been at least 15 minutes since Ashley had gone out, and she was out by a bench in front of the store. This is a shout out to everyone...if you could think safe thoughts at her, and hope she made it to where she was going to make her French toast.

Am I an Artist?

Rambling and quotes and links ahead. (two posts in one day?? I don't even know who I am anymore...)

The Yarn Harlot, Stephanie Pearl-MacPhee certainly is. But what makes her an artist? And what makes me possibly less of one?

My Uncle Tupper has always said that you may use the professional term "writer" or "artist" when you have paid the rent that way

I kind of like that definition. But if I'm not selling stuff, is that ok too?

A comment from "Tracy in KC" in the comment section of the above post is awesome.

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"I come up against this dilemma almost daily. I don't identify myself as an artist publicly, because then people say, "do you sell your work?" and I am hopelessly inept at selling my work. But as others have pointed out, some of the greatest artists of the past were, too.

If you consider "artist" as a way of life and a state of mind, there is no doubt. I live through my eyes and revel in the visual wonder of the world. I make quilts. I paint and collage. I take photographs. I knit. I spin. I write a lot. And I'm about to make a film. (Yeah, that one surprises me, even.) When quilting and knitting, I make my own designs as I go, and my mind hungers for the next visual challenge or treat. I can't make enough to exhaust the urge to make - it's a constant flow that continues in my mind even when my hands are still.

Can we agree to stop looking for some sort of approval, and just DO it? Do we really need somebody out there to stick an official badge on us that says ARTIST in order to keep indulging in these pursuits that tend to lack financial incentive but are immensely fulfillng in themselves?"
********************************************************************

Yes. YES!!!! My brain is always looking for the next visual challenge!!

However, I also like the way that my brother's girlfriend put it. Essentially, she said to me that an artist is someone who has to create and feels off when it's not happening.

I think that the term "artist" is the same as the term "athlete". You may not be a professional, but you can still be a member of the club when you're learning, and when you're doing it for free. I called myself a teacher when I was tutoring, then when I was doing my practicum, and finally now that I'm subbing. Do I have a class? No. But do I teach? Yes. Do I sell my knitting/painting etc? No. Do I create artistic items? Yes. Absolutely. And even if I give them away as gifts or keep them for myself to wear or use, I am still an artist.

That feels really good.

I am an artist.

Giant Loophole of Ultimate Doom

Whoa. How much do you want to bet that Focus on the Family will be changing their policies after THIS has gotten around??

Insert interesting title over there. ---->

WARNING: This post contains some sycophantic self congratulations, and some blowing off of steam, and lots of introspection...but no dream descriptions. I'll spare you THAT. My dreams have been WHACKED OUT lately...I kid you not.

But if anyone's interested I'll transcribe some of them later from my paper journal.

This is a very odd entry...believe me, I'm ok. Just feeling odd and needing to spill my binary guts. Please bear with me. :P

I'm in a very weird headspace right now. Maybe I'm over-blank. Over-tired, over-stimulated, over-sugared, over-media'd, over-heated. Maybe I'm under-blank. Under-stimulated, under-exercised, under-fed, under-wear *.

A big change is happening, which isn't really big, I guess...but sure seems like it sometimes. More details forthcoming.

I feel like I'm saying that a lot these days.

I am SO SICK of feeling tired all the time. Today I went without a nap because I was at my cousin Kristy's bridal shower, and then went to visit Dave. The shower was really nice. :) I'm glad I went, but it's one of those odd things when someone you grew up with gets married. I haven't really had anyone I've grown up with get married, so this is kind of new to me.

Dave and I watched "Butterfly Effect" and it. Was. SO. Good. I'm really not an Ashton Kutcher fan, but he was amazing in it...just staggeringly good. The movie was unreal. We had the choice of the director's cut and the theatrical release and we watched the former. I want to watch the theatrical release in a couple of weeks. It was so intense that I couldn't watch it again sooner.

My brain hurts...not like, actual pain ** but sort of itching...like...restless. What should I do with this itch? Currently, I'm dealing with it by writing this post...but I don't know what I'm going to do after I finish it. I'm totally exhausted. I want to create. I want to sew or paint or draw or write...this hyperactive insane urge to create is very new to me and it's kind of freaking me out a little. I've always liked making stuff...jewellery, etc. but it feels like a switch has been turned on in my brain that is making me desperately need to spew creativity out *** onto something and it doesn't matter if it's a computer screen or paper, or a sketch pad or a yard of fabric.

*Just seeing if you're paying attention.
**Which, may I say, is a very nice change from the headache I've had for the last few days.
***Apparently just because I feel creative doesn't mean I actually write creative metaphors.

I feel like I should be further ahead in some things. I see people do things that they've obviously worked very hard at for many years and I want to be able to do them NOW. Examples: martial arts, sewing, painting, writing, gymnastics. Even lifting heavy objects...I don't like the limitations that my body currently has, especially with having been sick. I guess it's because my mind was so stretched out this year, and I've never really failed at anything mentally ** that I've tried to do. I keep meaning to take the Mensa test, because I'm crazy intelligent. Obnoxiously so at times...eg: this entire paragraph. I heard variations of "not living up to her potential" a LOT throughout elementary school. Sometimes I wonder if I'm cheating the world by not becoming a doctor or a physicist or something. Other times I really honestly wonder if I'm just such an egomaniac that I believe I've got some kind of gift that sets me apart from the rest of the world.

*which I've never really done...so I don't know why I expect this
**except Chem 11, but that doesn't really count because I didn't try because I hated it...and also certain logic arguments with Dave, but that also doesn't count because either Dave's a super freakishly smart guy with super logic training (true) or he is a big cheater head and clonks me on the head any time I start to win one of those arguments (I'm pretty sure that's not true...not entirely convinced though).

Discoveries...

I'm not sure which of the two I'm more pleased to discover.


Are my mom and I the only ones who remember the Butterscotch Mint lifesavers? I tried to find a picture of them online without success. I couldn't even find reference to them. It's like the company has disavowed all knowledge of them...spooooooooky.



The mystery of the headaches has been solved!! My parents and I both have had continual headaches since the paint and stain began being used in the kitchen renovations. SUCCESS!

Wait...does this mean I've got to stop self-medicating with caffiene?

Ooh!

I can see the moon through my basement window! This doesn't happen very often. Nifty.

I've already asked Gwynabella about this, but I'm going to put a shout out to all transit riders. I don't ride the bus a whole lot, since I'm supremely lucky to have a boyfriend who will go to work very early so that I can catch a ride with him. However, a few times in the last couple of weeks I've wanted to leave a little earlier, so I took the bus home.

Twice now, out of maybe five or six rides that I was alone on, in between stops, on a three quarters empty bus, a man has gotten up from his perfectly suitable seat (ie: I don't think sun was a factor, and there wasn't anyone near him) and come to sit next to me. Is this unusual? Because it kind of freaked me out...and they both kind of smelled bad. Man, I know I look good in them, but maybe I should stop wearing skirts...

Grumpy.

I am grumpy. And grouchy. I hate those words because they feel like inadequate descriptions and somewhat childish * . It's hard to find a word to describe how I feel though. I'm not angry. I'm not sad. I'm just...off.

You know...grumpy. Or maybe grouchy.



Reasons why I'm grumpy and/or grouchy:
1) My throat really hurts.
2) My stomach hurts.
3) I still have more than two weeks worth of school **
3a) I have no job yet. Yeep.
3aI) I have no money.
4) I have assignments to do still and I can't focus. Grrr...
5) I want to be creative and play with fabric and paint and clay (err...not all as one project)
6) My room is a complete fucking disaster. I managed to put away some fabric last night, but it's still really bad. I'm hoping that a new strategy will work...I'll probably give it its own post, because I don't really have much in the way of inspiration lately.

*probably because the first thing I associate with those words are cartoon characters and muppets. Grumpy of "Seven Dwarf" fame, and Oscar the Grouch.

**On the flip side, I've only got about two weeks left of school.

Two more weeks. Two more weeks. Two more weeeeeeeeeks.

I have an army in my room. (Uhhh...NNY...you might not want to read the rest of this. Close the browser or leave the page. No pictures, but you will be grossed out. Seriously. Remember the tick picture.) Let's refer to this army as "space invaders" because I hate even the sight of the shape of that word. Anyway, these "space invaders" are most commonly of the variety "familiar name for male parent, opposite of short, lower extremities". On any given day, I'll see three or so of them around my bathroom. Bleah. I hate killing stuff, "space invaders" included, but this was getting ridiculous. And I don't mind this kind nearly as much as the icky gross bleahhhhhh "space invaders" that I used to see. But then...THEN! I saw two of them ATTACKING AND KILLING one of the icky bleah ones! WICKED! One of them did it again today. This pleases me greatly.

So, here's the deal. The "familiar name for male parent, opposite of short, lower extremities" get to stay. If they venture outside my bathroom or on anything that is not wall, ceiling or some floor, they're open game. Otherwise, they can just sit around and do their canabalistic thing.

One thing that more than sort of bothers me...how many of the other "space invaders" ARE there in my room to support at least five or six of the others. Best not to dwell on that too much...I may just discover the answer when I start moving furniture around to vacuum.

Vanity Search

So I did some googling* on myself. I'm pleased to announce that I couldn't find me. I'm not going to write search strings, as that would kind of defeat the purpose of remaining ungoogleable**.

*When did that word get verbed? Two or three years now?
**I'm pretty sure that's not a word. And I know it's not a verb the way I've got it.

I'm just waiting to hear from NNY and family about baby...a friend of mine is in the hospital having her second baby. And I'm ahead on homework* so I get to tool around on the computer.

*Behind on readings. Bleah.

Joy MacPhail came to TELUD today. Her talk was fairly interesting. I didn't fall asleep during TELUD either, which was good. I'd forgotten to bring my pencils and sketchbook like I'd planned, so I designed quilt blocks and quilts in my notebook in ballpoint pen for most of the talk. If anyone wants a sampler quilt or something with words, I've designed the entire alphabet mostly to my satisfaction. Of course, I probably can't actually sew them all. I've also been designing cute little pictures like butterflies and flowers. I've got a wine glass and a wine bottle which are kind of cool, but just think of the possibilities for people who hate the super saccharine angel stuff*! How about a gin and tonic? I've already got a martini glass Ooh! Or bondage gear? A corset? I already did a platform hooker shoe...what else? Comments! I need inspiration! I've still got 30 more hours of TELUD to get through! A coffin!

* Like me. Ye gods. The worst thing about liking to do stuff like knit and other craft things are the sickeningly cute patterns. I want DRAGONS people. And designs that make me appear somewhat cool when I do them. ** Not teddy bears praying. Also, don't even get me started on the music...yes MUSIC on some of these sites. Gahhhhhhh...

** Although I AM quilting and knitting. Despite the lessening stigma, it's still not exactly cutting edge, especially since I look rather vanilla. ***

*** I'm allowed to call myself that. Not you. So there. ****

**** Gee, am I passive aggressive much? Hehe.

Give me ideas in the comments about counter-cultural stuff I can design for quilt blocks. How wicked would that be??? Now I'm all excited. :D HOORAY!! ANOTHER PROJECT!!!! :D

Oh, wait.

Where did my weekend go?

Saturday: mostly slept.
Sunday: mostly did homework and readings and applications...wasting vast amounts of time on things that I didn't realize I didn't need to do.

Um...hello? I'd like to get my weekend back please. I'm ready for it to be Friday again.

Best spam title ever.

This even beats the ones for sending your kids away to boarding school.

settler gynecology

Wha?

Holy cow, I'm a grownup.

I just spent the evening learning how to do report cards, having dinner with my sponsor teacher and family, and playing cards with him, his wife and a friend of theirs. This is freaking me out. I'm like...adult 'n' stuff.

In other news, we didn't have a scary Satanic day, although one of the boys from the intermediate grades brought a knife to school. Holy hell. What is up with that.

We released our butteflies today. It was very cute to watch the kids see them leave.

I'm tired. Good night.

Something I Have Wanted to Write About and Have Forgotten Until Now

The female staff bathrooms in Vancouver schools are very odd. There's a locking door, a small area with sink, soap, garbage can, etc...then a single stall within the room, which also locks and contains the toilet. I don't understand why the toilet needs to be sequestered away from the sink. It's not like the sink will be offended if they're in the same room. Nor will there be anyone else in there washing their hands if you lock the main door. I'm confused...and I have this compulsion that I can't just lock the first door and leave the other one alone. It's a small thing, but it irritates me. When I was in a different school (which had the same layout!), I decided that I was going to just leave the damned inner door open. I don't know why it bothers me, but it just DOES! Anyway, I left the door open, and I heard someone rattling at the door to open it. Minor panic, then I laugh to myself. Silly! There is a lock! And it is locked! Ha ha ha!

And then I hear a key turn in the deadbolt.

More than minor panic ensues as I lock the inner door. Whoever it was didn't actually come in, but it was a very weird moment. Why would someone try to open the door? I'm even more confused by that. The door at Gigabyte has a latch bolt and no key, which is why I was complacent.

Aren't you glad you waited around to read this?