The next two weeks are going to be grueling. 
But we'll get through. We always do. 

My spine feels disconnected from the rest of me, somehow.

Remember.

I feel better about what I do than I have for a long while now.

It's the feeling of working towards a clear goal; making visible progress everyday. Of feeling challenged and stepping up, and knowing that you can take this so so so much further and that you will. The primal sensation of having pushed your body physically.

My appetite is better, too: I'm ravenous in between bouts of movement and dance choreo; need to keep my blood sugar up. I feel clear-headed and bright-eyed.

It's getting on the other side of the desk again.

 Not well not well not well

Want to lose myself in daylight my nose smashed against someone's ribcage I am lost lost lost where do I go to win

Finished one show. Start another this week. Then the big one in three weeks.

I haven't been writing.

My life in stacks of bills and programs and bank statements and postcards from no where. Piles of clothes and empty raisin boxes. Half-read books.  

(Here's what I'm reading, or not reading: Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, picked up at an outdoor stock clearance sale. A collection of one-act plays, from the library. Surrealist love poetry, which I don't like at all.)

Piles of unwashed clothes. Unmade bed. Bottle of unopened vodka. (I'm trying to save it for something.)

Undone.

 Went badly.

My hands won't stop shaking. 
I'm better than that.

Welp. Live and learn and fuck-all.

Doing a lot of hiding, these days.
Coiling to spring. 
I'll come round. Give me time.

I have loved this for a long time now.

Text from Crave by Sarah Kane

It's captioned as "Mattias and one of the best dresses ever". That the person in the photo, at first glance, could be taken for either male or female is compelling. Whether man or woman there is no denying the elegant line of the subject's posture, and the disarming beauty of the raised arm. Look at me in the mirror. I wonder if I look nice.

It would be easy enough to find out if Mattias is male or female. 
But, really, do we need to know?

 1. Doing another children's show. Opened Thursday. The sheep keep falling over. The SHEEP KEEP FALLING OVER. Nnnghgnash.

2. I love the love meme:

 Went to dentist and had head irradiated to confirm if me wisdom teeth are nasty impacted buggers. After I paid the bill I realized I had no money for a haircut.

It seems experimentation is in order.

I sense clogged sinks in my future.

Dragging teeth over new filling. It feels like a particularly stubborn bit of chewy sweetie stuck on my tooth. 

Going up on the wall. Picking new bookshelf tomorrow, quite pleased about that, nicely wrangled for a lot less than I thought I'd have to spend. Putting off painting I suppose. Right. Hungry. I think there must be cake in this house. I can feel it in my organs. Yes. G'night.

5:00PM
Sitting in wrecked room. Furniture in weird places, dragged over to reveal thick layer of solidified dust, I kid you not. Peeling stuff off walls. I want a new bed. Or a new mattress, really. I have slept on this since I was eight. Really, reached the end of lifespan. Fuck so many things to sort and file and what-not. It's too hot for this nonsense.

9:41PM
Desk is now facing window. Temp measure so I could get at the nasty festering under-bed. And because I was bored. Rather fond of it, actually. It'll be terrible during afternoons, though, with the sun straight in my face and bleaching everything here white. Bed is also in middle of floor. It is now a creaky mattress-y island of delight. I shall name it something appropriate, like Pudding Island. Though I do not like the idea of sleeping in pudding. Oh, oh did you think I was moving furniture all this while? No, I just got back from watching TV. Feel like a giant stepped on my head. Still too hot for this.

12:35 AM
Room is still wrecked. Where are all the cardboard boxes in this house? About to throw out substantial piece of furniture. But, quickly, mosaic time!



Thinking: Purple wall with white shelving.
Or: White wall with black shelving, with tree outlines in black.
Also: painting window grills some silly colour, like pink, and adding moulding, window boxes. Harsh sun, though.
But First: Everything to be packed into boxes.
You Lot: Thoughts?

The Olympus PEN E-P1. Time to sigh and buckle knees, ladies. Intertubes sez this baby will be out in July. At least I know where that paycheck is going. OH YEAH.

from Le Love.

 Dizzy. Lightheaded. Putting off work again. Have to be somewhere at eleven tomorrow morning. Today morning. I don't know why. Well, yes, I do know why, but I'll be damned if I dedicate any more headspace to it than I have to.

Getting a bowl of decent ramen on a Sunday night is a lot more difficult than it should be. My usual ramen place was closed randomly (as most of my favorite eating places are wont to do). Wandered over to the back-up, found the bar counter that makes up the entirety of the joint's seating taken up by a family. It was a lot of family. Like reunion dinner family. Like Yours, Mine and Ours family.

Settled for a dim corner in a slightly more fancy place than the usual. Ramen was passable. Chashu bits took a lot of chewing. In the end I gave up and settled down for the MSG migraine. 

I've never gotten an MSG migraine from my usual places. Bah. Humbug.

I should get back to work.

Nah.

TTRP is doing 4.48 Psychosis. Hurrah. Of course, no one will go to see it with me. Which is well and good. TTRP's never let me down.

God my head hurts. Right side of my head. And my jaw. And my back teeth.

Half-past two in the morning.

Don't like this work. 

Want to swim out and never come back to shore. Warm water stinging my throat soothing my soul. Weightless and solid. Flying under the surface. I'll grow scales upon scales on my back to protect my skin from the sun. Skin between my fingers and toes. Water under my arms over my legs. Cut through the sea, legs pumping, never growing tired. Wrap my poor head in seaweed. I'll never suffer another headache again. Never suffer another wart or boil, just have the water smooth everything over. When they find my bones they'll put my skull on display, this beautiful thing like a new-laid egg, pointing south.

{BLOCK STOP}

i am an angry angry fuck.

 Happiness is

A small hand in mine as we walk to gas stations for eggs and tuna
and stories about school and how she is now tall enough to press the lift buttons.

my father foisting (mostly) carrot juice on me
(he will join my mother and I wish I was going with them)

I will ask my brother if he wants to see a band.

A cat asleep in the recycling.

Days spent away from the world. There is my family. I do not see them enough.

It is good to sit and work on work that excites me, where I am lost in building layers upon layers and shoring up cornices.

It is nice to not have to speak for hours and hours.

I like doing receipts and budgets.

This bit of Jonathan Mead's article on Zen Habits jumped out at me. Rest of article here.

Also from Zen Habits: 55 Ways To Get More Energy. It's stuff you know in bits and pieces collected in one nice neat list.