...and send some hands.
I feel awful...not because I did anything wrong, but because I finally caught that sickness that's been in the air. My entire head, neck, shoulders and upper back feels like lead, and the tissue is jonesin' for some massage therapy. I had to call out of iShipping this morning, then I went back to bed, and then I woke up, and then I felt fine, and then I went outside, and then I bought cigarettes instead of cold medicine, and now I feel awful again.
Yeah, I know, I'm a dumbass: it's not like my throat will even allow smoke into my lungs...but I thought I was feeling fine when I bought them, like it was just some 24 hour bug I had going on. Yeah, I know, I'm a dumbass: I should've just got the 'Tussin.
I forgot how nice it is to sleep in the daytime. I'm sure after my time is served with the iShip, I'll be doing plenty of that for a few weeks?...hopefully not months.
So my heater stopped working again. Sucks. It was just fixed. I think that's why I had the worst sleep of my life last nite: cold air + sickly body = stiff lead girl.
I want a back rub soooo badly. I'd slit throats for some magic hands and oil. And someone to pop my back and re-align my spine would be greaaaaate, mkay? Any takers? C'mon. No? Yeah, screw you, too.
On a side note: I finished a painting last nite. It's done in my signature style: square canvas, simple monochromatic color palette, gouche, clean layout, odd subject...very graphic design-ish. Would anyone ever consider buying it? Probably not, unless they were nuts like most art critics and buyers are, but I'm sure it'd make for an interesting observation piece if someone were to ever visit and see it in my apartment.
Katherine said that she should be a baker, and that I should be a painter. Open a shop. Pasteries and paintings. She and Alfred would own the joint; I'd hang my shit, work for her and sell desserts, and occasionally earn a little pocket cash if someone was dumb-nuts enough to buy the art. We'd be great, too. Nice concept.
I think Ryan was right when he said that I was displaying bitterness during First Friday way back when we went. Yeah, I am bitter at the fact that I'm not showcasing my work...not that I have any, but if I did. I've always wanted to be an artist, in the traditional sense. I mean, I may be a graphic designer, but they come a dime a dozen, and only 2% of graphic designers have recognizeable names and work that can seriously be considered art.
Why would anyone want to be an artist? I don't know. I guess in my case, me not being able to ever really verbally say what I think, or feel, is why I choose a visual language, be it painting, design, or photography. Ask me about my art work: I wouldn't know what to say about it. Make your own interpretations. They say I'm a mystery. I say they're right. And I wish I could solve myself.
The offer still stands to be my masseur...or masseuse; I believe in equal opportunity.
Yeah, I know, I'm a dumbass: it's not like my throat will even allow smoke into my lungs...but I thought I was feeling fine when I bought them, like it was just some 24 hour bug I had going on. Yeah, I know, I'm a dumbass: I should've just got the 'Tussin.
I forgot how nice it is to sleep in the daytime. I'm sure after my time is served with the iShip, I'll be doing plenty of that for a few weeks?...hopefully not months.
So my heater stopped working again. Sucks. It was just fixed. I think that's why I had the worst sleep of my life last nite: cold air + sickly body = stiff lead girl.
I want a back rub soooo badly. I'd slit throats for some magic hands and oil. And someone to pop my back and re-align my spine would be greaaaaate, mkay? Any takers? C'mon. No? Yeah, screw you, too.
On a side note: I finished a painting last nite. It's done in my signature style: square canvas, simple monochromatic color palette, gouche, clean layout, odd subject...very graphic design-ish. Would anyone ever consider buying it? Probably not, unless they were nuts like most art critics and buyers are, but I'm sure it'd make for an interesting observation piece if someone were to ever visit and see it in my apartment.
Katherine said that she should be a baker, and that I should be a painter. Open a shop. Pasteries and paintings. She and Alfred would own the joint; I'd hang my shit, work for her and sell desserts, and occasionally earn a little pocket cash if someone was dumb-nuts enough to buy the art. We'd be great, too. Nice concept.
I think Ryan was right when he said that I was displaying bitterness during First Friday way back when we went. Yeah, I am bitter at the fact that I'm not showcasing my work...not that I have any, but if I did. I've always wanted to be an artist, in the traditional sense. I mean, I may be a graphic designer, but they come a dime a dozen, and only 2% of graphic designers have recognizeable names and work that can seriously be considered art.
Why would anyone want to be an artist? I don't know. I guess in my case, me not being able to ever really verbally say what I think, or feel, is why I choose a visual language, be it painting, design, or photography. Ask me about my art work: I wouldn't know what to say about it. Make your own interpretations. They say I'm a mystery. I say they're right. And I wish I could solve myself.
The offer still stands to be my masseur...or masseuse; I believe in equal opportunity.
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