This Is All Wrong

You ever have days when you’re just sick of your whole life? I’m having one of those days – all this week, if not all month. Last night I finally vocalized what’s wrong with me. I don’t even know how we got there, but while talking to Vince over lord knows what, I said it. “I’ve given up. I’ve given up on myself. I’ve given up on this house. Hell, I’ve even given up on my career.”

Yup, I went there. I’ve finally admitted the hard truth that I’ve thrown in the towel. The girl that wanted to find magic and create beautiful sparkly things has become so disillusioned and lost.

Then I see shit like this:

Seriously? What kind of ridiculous torture ritual is that? What is up with insanely long interviews that insist you jump through hoops, paddy whack, and throw a dog a bone in order to prove you know how to do a job? What happened to presenting your portfolio and sitting in an interview with the people you’d actually be working with? By the way, that job description comes from a company looking for someone to work only part-time. I feel like the world sucks more than usual.

Anyways, after I word-vomited all that ugliness, I stopped myself before I said, “Mr. Davidson would be so disappointed in me.” That was a truth that was way too true to vocalize. In case you don’t know me enough to know who Mr. Davidson is, he was one of my instructors from the graphic arts program I completed a few years ago. He passed away this week.

We all have people in our lives that make an impact in some way. The truth is, Mr. Davidson was a teacher in so many ways. He broke me, but then he helped me figure out how to put myself back together and think differently in the process. There were so many things that I felt a certain way about. He helped me see those feelings were completely valid and there was nothing wrong with letting the freak flag fly.

I guess I’m just feeling disappointed in myself because I’ve stopped creating. I don’t make time to feed my little soul. If I start working on something, Aria wants to help. When I tell her no, she gets upset, and I feel bad and drop what I’m doing to console her.

Then, my work room is actually our dining room which is the first thing people see when they walk in. I find myself having to put things away so visitors don’t think we live in a disaster zone. That’s what keeps me from making that space into a studio. So I guess my work space isn’t really my work space.

There are so many things I want and I don’t know how to get anywhere with anything. I find myself taking care of everyone else. I’ve stopped taking care of me.