holyfluck

I don't really know how to get into this but I feel like I should at least document that it happening; my father committed suicide a little over three weeks ago. Gun to his forehead in the middle of the family backyard. No note. Ouch. There are so many questions that I'll never have answered. So much anger tangled with the grief. It has me spiraling in ways with my own life, but weirdly in a positive way. I'm fucking shit up for the better. I feel weighty though. A lot of sadness and negative reflection. That's all I'll say about it now.

It's late. 3:00 in the morning late. I just read some posts on a person's finsta account. They were honest and raw and pure and made me remember that I love being honest and raw and pure. Writing. WRITING! I forget about this world sometimes. Oh but it's so juicy. I used to take refuge in my expression here on this tumblr account but then I learned of spies. Having spies changes the way you present. Stolen thoughts of honesty are now used as a tool against you. A tool to mock and slander behind your back to other's who choose to build a case against you as a human. It's lame. I feel like my refuge was poisoned. But fuck it. Here I am again. I love to write. To show myself. To dig in. I haven't really considered the thought of a semi-private medium of expression like a finsta. I think I only thought of things in black and white- public or private. But huzzah, there is grey area! I like this idea! A protected social refuge of expression! To be seen, ever so deeply, but only by the eyes of fellow real ones. YES!

I know I have spies that likely delight in any deviation my life takes from my ideal. It doesn’t matter much. But it is sure interesting that I have continued to hold your attention. I wish you nothing but peace, happiness, and everlasting love. We are all human. Enjoy the intimate window into my world. I’ve always loved to share. 

Nest egg is still declining. Baby pumps keep me alive. The brand is progressing though. And I sold my first commission light sculpture! 2k! I'll raise my prices for the next piece, but yeah. It feels pretty good! I just ordered the supplies. I’ll get going on it in the studio next week. I’m excited. She’s legit, people!

I feel good writing this all down. All of this is to say that I am taking some crazy risks that will either pay off or crash and burn. I guess this is just life, eh? At least I’m going for it! I feel crazy most days. I like to say to myself when I’m in a panic spin “What if this all works out?” WHAT IF!!! That would be fucking AWSOME. Here’s to hoping, and pushing, and dreaming, and working. Please universe, bring on the bull market soon. 

That’s that I guess! I’ll check in again when I feel like it. 

Today I woke up from a silly dream. I got a job at Del Taco. It was my first day on the gig, so I didn’t know anything yet. It was just me and one coworker who was meant to be training me but we were slammed. Some big mad dude came inside from the drive way and demanded to know where his number 89 was. I confessed I didn’t know anything as it was my first day on the job, told him that I was only able to serve smiles and that I was sorry. I asked my frantic coworker what a number 89 was. She said it was a pancake. I asked her to show me how to make a pancake. We went to the back. She reached her hand into a giant back of shredded Monterey Jack cheese, scooped up as much as she could manage, and chucked it into a frying pan. Obviously, I was confused. Weren’t we making a pancake? And then she said, “yup. This is it. Del Taco special. A grown man is eating this.” It was just a big pile of melted cheese. I woke up tickled. I love the way my brain dreams sometimes. Silly stupidness. 

Some accidental double exposure shots. My best friend gushed about how much she loved these and that they need to be in my memoir. This blog is sorta kinda like a memoir, wouldn’t you say?

I’ve not been as actively writing as I have been in the past. I have found myself in a bit of a silly little love tryst. Love really isn’t the right word here, but romance could be. It all started budding in my salsa class, just as I had suspected something might. I’ve been spending a significant chunk of my time in that studio. What was once one hour of beginner’s practice on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, is now two hours Monday, three hours Tuesday, two hours Wednesday, three hours Friday, and just this week I elected to be on their choreography dance team that practices a specific routine on Sundays for an hour and half. Talley it all up and I’m on that dance floor for 11.5 hours. They organize the classes in a kind of speed-dating way. The females, or the followers, rotate amongst the leads resembling a kind of speed dating effect. I flirt with everyone, of course. I swear, I came out of the womb flirting. It comes naturally to me and is just plain fun. It helps that I am a near constant smiler, especially if I’m enjoying myself. Anyway, there have been several fellas that play the game with me and flirt back for our 30 seconds or so rotation. A particularly handsome one asked me out for drinks after class last week. I apprehensively agreed, knowing that I am in no position to seriously get involved with anyone and I’d hate to fuck with the vibe in class. Over drinks I learned that he is Dominican, a firefighter, and born and raised in Brooklyn. This man is hot hot hot. I’m not usually the type to be so affected by someone’s physical appearance/presence but this one has got something special that tickles my sex nerve. He has a thick Brooklyn accent and speaks at a slower tempo than the rest of the lot. It does something to me. He just oozes sex. That said, I was clear that sex wasn’t on the table for me unless we could successfully brew some chemistry and anticipation. Honestly, that’s my favorite part about sexuality. I’d give up the P in V if I couldn’t have the sexual energy, tension, desire, and playfulness that sets the stage. Why is the stage setting so often forgone in modern romance? It’s tragic. Oh boy, but this one has a knack for it! We tickled and teased and made out like teenagers for days. On top of that, he’s cool. He’s honest. He’s kind. He opens my door and walks on the outside of the sidewalk. Conversation flows easily. He’s picked up some small details and orchestrated our dates around them. Love a man that listens. I have to say, I haven’t felt this aroused in ages. It’s delightful. We fucked eventually. That was... nice. He knows the bedroom. All of that turning each other on makes for the literal act considerably more pleasurable. Yeah, so I haven’t been writing. Been a little wrapped up in the sheets of a suave Brooklyn boy. It’s funny how romance can make the significance of your troubles sort of melt away in the background. I’m not silly enough to deem it as truth, but I do enjoy the ride of it. 

Hey, Tumblr world. Been a little while since we last talked. It’s been good out here. Some days have been better than others. I was approved for a studio space. I haven’t signed the lease yet so it doesn’t feel quite real, but it’s a big move that I’m looking forward to. It kind of feels like I’m jumping the gun a little, but I’ve heard something motivational like “do it before you’re ready” or whatever and that’s what this feels like. No, I’m not ready. And no I don’t NEED it. But my studio will give me so much room to grow. Not to mention the financial commitment could be the perfect fire under my ass. The right kind of pressure is nurturing. I’m looking forward to migrating my work over there. I keep rerouting back to my theory of delusion. To believe in something that has not yet happened is simply delusional. So yes, believing that I’m somehow going to “make it” as an artist/designer is indeed delusional. But to make anything happen in life you must ride that wave of delusion until it magically morphs into your reality. And what a trip it is! We’re crazy out here! I’m rolling with it as gracefully and with as much presence as I can manage. I am grateful every day. I skipped salsa in leu of a post Valentine’s Day hangover (a celebratory one, not a sad gal one). It ignited a depressive episode that exemplified how far I’ve already come this year with my emotional health. Depression, lethargy, hopelessness, and fear are no longer my resting state. I am moving towards things that I care about and I’m doing so before I’m ready. It’s comforting, this discomfort. Feels like growth. Delusional delusional growth.

I’m beginning to consider renting out a studio space for my work. I have been doing everything from home thus far, which has been okay because it’s mostly conceptual. But my ideas are moving from the conceptual world to the physical one (HOORAY!). It’s going to get real messy and I’m running out of space here! My apartment is not cramped, by any means. It’s spacious and airy. A friend of mine even called it minimal. But I’ve grown to cherish that loftiness. I do not want to eat up all of the negative space here and wreck it with building supplies and power tools. No thank you. I know me too well. I would be stressed as fuck trying to maintain an aesthetically pleasing space. I know it sounds silly, but I like my home to look and feel nice. I have expensive things in this house, the last thing they need is to be sprayed with sawdust or to catch a rogue paint fling. Plus, I’ve already spent a fair amount of energy setting my work up and taking it back down. It would be lovely to just leave my work as-is and return to it undisturbed. The fantasy is to get a small space, maybe 500 square feet. I like the idea of leaving to work and coming home to.. not work. There’s a nice beginning and ending to it. Whereas here, working from home, my days are intermittently spruced with a little work here and there throughout the whole day, which is nice as hell at times, but also leaves room for guilt when I am not working. I often spend time working on the house, because that feels like work too. It would be nice to remove the distractions and give myself a real designated space to do work-work. Could be fruitful! My crafting supplies are adding up as well. I oddly have a second bathroom, but it is nearly filled to the brim with art supplies and I know I am going to need more. It’s been straining me. I’ve been wracking my brain for creative solutions to accommodate my growing need for space without compromising on my interior aesthetic. I can’t imagine anything that doesn’t settle for some brand of eye-sore. Ergo, studio space! I’m loving this concept! The money spooks me a little buuuuuut I do have it! This could be what gets my creative momentum really going. I’m putting my feelers out into the world. Cute, sunlit studio space within reasonable distance to East Williamsburg, I’m coming for you. 

Today was uncomfortable. I was ready to cry for most of it. I think I know how I got here, though, which is good. I met with a new girlfriend of mine for brunch yesterday. Brunch was fab. We’re still getting to know each other so there was a hint of awkwardness here and there but overall it was quite fluid and we engaged in some interesting conversations about both of our lives. We spent several hours together. We parted ways and I felt grateful for the new connection. As I made my way home though my anxiety sort of possessed me. I started reliving parts of our conversation and imagining all of the negative ways that I could have been perceived. Nitpicking this, dissecting that. I don’t remember ever being *this* insecure. Maybe when I was a young teenager but never as an adult. It’s a response that I acquired from my recently ceased relationship. He was not a kind lover in the beginning months. I suffered many forms of legitimate abuse from him. I was in survival mode and was hypervigilant to his perception of me, so as not to make a misstep and suffer the consequence. Curve ball! I now have some long term consequences. I have a tremendous amount of grief thinking about that time now. My heart goes out to that me. I never would have accepted his poor treatment if he didn’t have the financial position that he did. Covid stripped me of my workplace and I was desperate to keep afloat. Anyway, I’m insecure now. It’s a gross feeling. It is difficult to connect to my authenticity. Bleh. After brunch and the mental stoning I curled up into my couch and flipped on the television, longing for some kind of escape. I watched a couple mindless drama-comedies, dramadies. I’m cool with those every once in a while as long as they’re somewhat positive. But then Hulu hijacked me. It automatically began playing a new series, which I didn’t quite catch until I was about 15 minutes into it and already hooked on the story. It was a crime, drama, thriller kind of piece- called Cruel Summer. I knew I shouldn’t have watched it, but I did. Four 50 minute episodes or something. I stayed up well past my 12:00 bedtime. The show was psychologically disturbing. Fear porn. I have deliberately been trying to cut out things and media in my life that don’t generate positivity for me. Stressful television is number one. Not that I watch a lot of it, but god damn do the masses. Why do we want to be stressed for entertainment?! Why simulate upsetting, violent scenarios for fun? It’s backwards to me. That said, our brains are wired for drama and I continued to watch it even as I knew it was not a great idea for me. Sigh. I managed to shut it off around 2:00am and watch a couple episodes of New Girl in the hopes of flushing out the cortisol that was running through my veins. Went to bed. Still had nightmares. Woke up sweaty and consumed with stress and agitation. That can’t be good for you! Especially as you’re climbing from a nightmarish mental state in real life. I had to wake myself all the way up and watch silly prank videos on my phone to intercept my brain from compulsively simulating terrifying abduction scenes in my sleep. Needless to say, I did not sleep well.. I was just not primed for having a feel-good day. But hey, at least I know the culprit! I gotta cut down (or out) things that I know make me feel crumby. You are not helpful to me, negative media. Self love starts with doing things that are good for you and NOT doing things that are not good for you. Simple, babe. We are always learning.