23:15. Last Thursday or Friday M, T, C and I helped me pack and move my stuff to the new studio. I haven't been since, it seems like a huge accomplishement to make it nice to work in there. We need lamps, shelves, to put the walls up, etc., but it's not a priority for the others, or it might be, somethings are more pressuring than otherthings. It's hard for me to do things on my own lately, maybe it has been hard for a long time. It makes me wonder if something is inherently wrong with me, but I think, the more I open my eyes and choose to see, that something is inherently wrong with the world. I feel paralyzed, decentisized. The work I have to do seems to not be worth it in its abundance. Still I can't find the willingness or power within me to do the work it takes to move towards a better future. It's not necessarily true, I have a tendency to worry and become truly pessimistic about everything. Even mistrustful in people I love and who love me. There could be a wall between me and everything else. A beautiful and endless wall, rising above me and around me into the depth of the sky. The wall is translucent and glowing pink plastic, and in it tiny pieces of silver confetti glitter catches the light of the sun, moon and stars. It would glow and blind me with regression and nostalgia. Its interference would shade my gaze. Nostalgia for a past saturated with glistening products hard with intention. As a child I understood my position as the neutral position, a home in the peaceful western Europe, as good as USA; maybe even better. I had my Barbie Spears, my Polly, my superstars dressed in pink. I'd give my My Little Pony's bubble baths in the sink and tend to their hair. The world was peaceful and safe and I was too little to think it could be otherwise - it was all a pink lie.
titsay
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