Owl Deer, Maybe Next Time

however, "do you want" also works.

"want" by itself, also works

But the answer, it turns out, is I was doing something. Riding in a car jars your body in many directions and requires constant microadjustments of your muscles just to stay in place and hold your normal posture. Because you’re inside the car, inside the situation, it’s easy not to notice all the extra work you’re doing just to maintain the status quo.

There’s all sorts of type of work that we think of as “free” that require spending energy: concentrating, making decisions, managing anxiety, maintaining hypervigilance in an unfriendly environment, dealing with stereotype threat, processing a lot of sensory input, repairing skin cells damaged sun exposure, trying to stay warm in a cold room.

He came from a extremely poor and abusive background but worked his way into fine society, where he fell in love with fellow artist Karin Bergöö, and his works shifted to painting his home life.

Painting titled "My Loved Ones"

I could tell so many stories about this family, but to sum it up they lived the definition of what we would call a cottagecore life where both Carl and Karin worked as artists in their dream house that they designed and built together. It really was an artist’s home built with pure love, and also a big contrast to what a typical Swedish home looked like at the time. The late 1800s trend was to have a dark home with gothic vibes and brown and dark red colours. The Larsson’s home though is bright and colourful with big windows and homemade textiles sewn by Karin.

I also wanted to tell a bit about Brita, the cute little girl on her father’s shoulders in the painting in the original post. She was the fifth child of seven and felt sometimes like she didn’t get enough attention from her dad as a middle child in a big family. To get more time with her dad she would ask him to paint only her as often as possible since then she could talk to him without any of her siblings annoying them. This is how she became the most painted of all the children with hundreds of portraits made with her as the model. She was 89 years old when she died in 1982 and loved to talk about her childhood and those many, many painting sessions with dad.

So I go down to the front desk and I'm like "My lights won't turn on and my shower won't get hot" so they send this guy up with me. We get into the room and I flick the switch and nothing happens so I'm like "See?"

And he goes "You must put your card in the slot."

"I... what? I have to put my room card in the light switch?"

"Of course!"

Now I have been in many hotels in the US and never encountered this concept, but apparently it was something most of their guests already knew. So I'm looking like a fool at this point. I feel like an idiot. The dude is fully grinning at me. I put the card in the slot and voila, the light turns on.

Then he's like "Ok, let's see if the shower works. You know you must wait for the hot water?" and I just know he's thinking I'm an idiot who also can't use a shower. This stupid American can't wait for the hot water! She can't even use a light switch or a shower!

And I guess he was distracted by these thoughts of my stupidity, because this dude fully stepped into the shower. In his nice dress shirt and slacks. He just. Gets into the shower.

And turns it on.

Not the best week honestly.

It's probably because I can't cry. All these days when I cried non-stop for hours were easier to handle. I could just move on, even have fun once I was done crying. I could manage it, journal about it, channel it into art.

Now it's just the body locked in, no release.