Fine Art Photography

I want to be creative again. I'm going to buy film and make use of my camera, take it wherever I go, just as I did for the eight months after I got it. I was painfully disappointed to see the photos I took this winter, what with the few months of rusting in the artist department. I think in general, one is lucky to get a single good print out of a 24- or 36-print roll of film; I usually like three or four of mine because I am of the elementary mind. In the four rolls from the beginning of the year, I was lucky to choose one I thought was worthy of remark. This. Must. Change.

I think one part of the difficulty I find is that I prefer portraitism (I'm making up words again! Hooray!), but I don't see people anymore. Generally, I'm OK with not seeing people (I don't like people. Yes, that means you), but when it comes to my photography, I know that that's the closest I come to a forté.

Does this mean I have to be social again? I'm not sure I can afford that, financially or psychologically.

Day In

I know I've said this before, but I miss not caring. Not that my life is bad, but there's not much good, not much positive. Just day in and day out and droning on and feeling inadequate and alone.

I miss those times when I was happy. Even those times when I was unhappy -- there were good times then, too. Being around people and having the choice to be alone. Feeling like I was doing something every day, and when I was doing nothing, it wouldn't last. Cigarettes tasted better, sleep meant something, the wind in my hair as I biked home at two AM was real. Drinking because it was fun, not because it made me feel better. Not drinking because I was doing other things, not because I shouldn't. Eating because you need food to survive, not because I'm lonely or bored or angry. Throwing up because I'd drunk too much, not because I'm lonely or bored or angry. Being angry for a reason, not because there's nothing else to feel.

Mixology

Any combination of energy drinks, powders, and pills is a bad idea.

Denial

So, you know how people are always talking about how some folk use things like sex, drugs, and alcohol to deal with or cover up their feelings? I always thought that was a bit dramatic or exaggeratory, especially because no one ever said it about me. Over the past few days, though, I'm wondering if I should say it to myself. I've been drink-sober for a week now, and while I've done that before, it was always with the thought that "I'll have a drink next week, or when I go to NYC in two weeks." Now I'm planning to keep this sobriety thing going for a few months.

So, you know, there's more presence of mind and more emotional awareness (pssht, what is the point of these things?). For example, I got kinda sad when I saw an ex on FaceBook. We had a tumultuous relationship for a couple months while I was in Oxford, but when we broke up, I immediately slept with other people. (Very immediately.) And I've been drinking since then, too. And the entire time I was with him (as well as before and after) I was regularly coked up.

Also, to-day I was talking to one of my closest friends about her boyfriend and remembered that they lost their virginity to each other last year. It made my heart hurt, it made me wish I had had something special that first time, instead of the horror I had when I was 14.

So I'm not drinking and I'm not having sex (I've gained so much weight in the last year and can't really handle the idea of being naked around anyone, let alone comprehend that someone will want to be naked with me). So I'm, you know, feeling these things. And realizing that I used booze and sex and coke to not feel things.

And I want to go back to that easy, breezy, happy time, however oblivious I may have been.

Visitors

Oh, hey, Nostalgia, how're you doing? Gawd, I haven't seen you in ages, at least a week. It's so strange I used to hang out with you all the time. Well, cool, thanks for dropping by, I'm sure I'll see you soon.

What?

Oh, you're staying? Oh.

In That Case

My dad turned 74 to-day. I clean up after him as if he was seven years old. I resent him for that (and for the fact that to-morrow he will shout at me for throwing away last week's papers to-day).

I do feel a bit guilty that it took me till this afternoon to remember that to-day is his birthday. Then again, I don't remember him recalling mine for at least a few years. When I spend a moment thinking about it, I don't feel bad. What point is there to it? To feeling bad, to his birthday, to my notice of either.

Since I've changed the title of this blog it has become one about him, or about our relationship. I don't like that. I guess, however, that is the most striking part of my life right now.

In that case, happy birthday, daddy.

Potential

Struggling with life in general. Fighting cutturgeousity. Last time, the exposure of FT made it almost not worth it -- looking for BD to-night. Unhappy.

I feel like such a child, being all angsty in a blog, but what have I otherwise?

Maybe in a few hours this will morph into some creative writing. That's a best-case-scenario.