I am not a writer, but I do blog once in a blue moon. I write like I talk. I use all forms of creative outlets to express myself. I am an artist and self expression comes natural to me. Social media has definitely helped that and I am not one to be self conscious of what others will think about me as I decide to open up. I will never do this in real life, talk about feelings and emotions and things. I was raised by a woman with an iron heart so I thought that's how everybody was. We don't talk about feelings, we just exist. It's all a work in progress.
My mother so cooly reminded me that I am on the verge of turning 33. She rolled her eyes and let out a heavy sigh "I'm not holding my breathe with you girls. If I had raised you in Guatemala, the two of you would be married by now with at least 2 kids each!"
I stopped fighting with her about this subject and I just stare at her and nod ok. I felt the pressure to have said hubby and kids at 22 but not at 32. The older I become, the more I question everything, even getting married. Relationships are so much hard work and who's crazy enough to go into such a situation unless you're really gun ho about the person. At this point, my only relationship is with my art and that motherfucker is being so difficult. I have the time, the space but the motivation is lacking. Where did it all go? I sit at my desk every night and stare at my blank pages. I need chispa! I've started reading more just to get inspired. I think Brendan told me that John Lennon use to do that to get material for his music. I totes want to be just like John Lennon except still a woman. Women are cooler.
So I've read Miller, Vonnegut, Bukowski and Kerouac to get this imagination of mine rolling with something new and different. I get bored of my own work and I'm always looking to outdo myself. I am my worst crtic. Maybe that's it, there all dudes. I should read more women writers. Most of my friends are males, but that doesn't mean I can always relate to me. Any reading suggestions are welcomed! I know I won't make money with art but I HAVE TO make it or I will become more insane. I also believe that if I was more insane that I would create great art! Look at Francis Bacon or Yayoi Kusama, so many dots!
Only sometimes do I wish I would've been more a little more boring and an accountant. I could do everything by the book and die and just be done with it. It's too late. I'm weird, I love making things and posting bedroom video selfies ala James Franco. I am amazed I am able to maintain an office job. I have a hard time sitting still. I give it 6 years and then one day I'll decide, fuck it and leave it. I am surprisingly competent as a logistics coordinator, go fucking figure. But that's not where I feel my spark, I only stay because my co workers make it awesome. I have an existential crisis every quarter. I want that motivation to come and arrive at the same time my inspiration is at it's peak. The world is just shit all around me and I'm just bitching about my selfish struggle. I just have this itching to get this out of my system and I can't ever verbalize this because I freeze up. So I draw, paint, blog and post pictures and things of that nature to not hold everything in.
As the eternal optimist, all my goals will be met. I'm just not applying myself as I've been told in the past. It's the only time I'm just like my father, when I'm being lazy. Not my words. At this point in my life, I don't see marriage, I don't see kids and I don't see a mortgage. If none of that happens, I really see just copious lovers, more art and tequila. Which wouldn't be the worst and the only true relationship I would ever have is art. I have no fuckin idea. I'm only 32 and maybe by the time I'm 80, I'll finally have a clue. haha
I'm sure the universe will find a way not to make my life a boring existence. I sure as hell try not to make it boring for the people that surround me. I keep my sweet mother on her toes to say the least. Go figure, she still loves her weird kid. Moms do that, just keep on loving you despite your idiosyncrasies.
Maybe I'll be lucky and end up with an eternal boyfriend, not husband and a singular love child. And my mom would finally have her grandbaby and that kid would give her an exciting headache just like I did as wee babe.
So I move on and continue to get my goose fed while pursuing the creation of great art and logging in my hours at the bar with my friends. It's New York, what else am I suppose to do?
Is there else but art?
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