Journal

Whatever happened to sweet 90s rock songs and being thin and pretty? What happened to sweeping ideas of living in the city in a flat with four other girls and drinking too much at funky parties where I barely knew the host? Whatever happened to art and tiwsting words to fit together?

Today is January 12th 2012.

I've been counting the fights per week that I get into with my boyfriend and it's reached an average of about three per week. Do I really want to be garunteed a fight three times a week? No. 

Sometimes when I have nothing better to do, I trace my hand on a piece of blank white paper. The shape never changes, the size stays the same; there is always that familiar slight curve of my ring finger. Sometimes I trace my left hand just for the challenge. Sometimes I even draw a beak and gobbler on the tip of my thumb, perhaps an eye and a pair of stick legs. Sometimes it resembles a turkey, but most times it still looks like a hand.

This is day 543 of August, 2011. I came back from vacation and have not stopped, for even a few hours it seems, from trying to get my head above water. How in the word did I make something so large, so complicated and so time consuming?

What I really want to do is write. But as my son once said, 'Dad, I have noticed that in order to get the money you want, or even to have the opportunity to do what you want, you have to do something you don't want to do.'