Perhaps you've gathered from the tone of ANGST that's been peppering my writing of late: I've been feeling restless with (honestly just a small) touch of GLOOM AND DOOM. The reasons are the expansive kind that I'm not really ready to explore here and now, although I am taking up the conversation elsewhere.
I have to make some!
(Don't worry, once I work it out a bit more, I'm sure I'll talk about it here too.)
It's just that WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE conversations always make me feel like a giant fucking Douche Canoe.
Wah Wah Wah listen to me with my FEELINGS. Puke.
(Although I like reading about YOUR feelings! Don't take that the wrong way, k?)
I'm treating my current state of VERKLEMPT with the generous salve of retail therapy. I don't care two figs what it says about me or my Traditional American Consumerism or my Shallow Character or my Human Weakness. Spending money on the Acquisition of Stuffs makes me feel better.
It makes me happy just PRETENDING to buy stuff!
Plus look at my new (thrifted) dress:
And my new (new) shirt:
And my new (gifted) hat:
It's impossible to be anything BUT cheerful with a hat like that.
I'm smiling just thinking about it.
On Tuesday morning Maria told me I should fly out to Florida for Memorial Day Weekend.
And why not?
Flights were cheap that morning, and I have a credit with Continental that expires in July, and really, why not?
But I had to clear it with Gabriel's dad, and with my boss.
Not three hours later, having jumped those hurdles, airline ticket prices had nearly doubled.
Or at least, no Florida right this minute.
I could REALLY use a beachy vacation.
This week was the second that I've had half day Wednesdays as a part of my new schedule. It's really, really nice.
Although I'm still playing errand running catch up on my Wednesdays.
My hope is that eventually I'll get to a space where Wednesday afternoon means midweek, midday NAP.
I have a table full of crap that I have to return to various stores.
Working on it.
Awhile/Aways back one of my friends came over and explained my DSLR to me, using simple language and small words, all the better for me to grasp the concepts with my tiny little mind. Since, yknow, I never bothered to read the manual, and it's been a decade since my last photography class. And I was never very good at that stuff anyways.
Since then I've been making an honest attempt to really learn how to use the thing.
Results have not been terrible, but, well, results are mixed.
I'm toying with the idea of taking a photography class.
Or I can just keep reading about it on the interwebs?
Classes.....I'm....well here's the thing.
Though I love learning,
and despite the fact that I've always been good at school,
and even though I have more than my fair share of degrees to back up that claim,
classes take [FILL IN THE BLANK] subject matter, and make it the object of my absolute loathing.
It doesn't matter how great and inspiring the teacher is.
I have had amazing lecturers.
It's just that I hate homework, and it seems that professors always require some sort of Proof of Learning.
I hate papers you see.
Paper writing takes something good and pure and interesting and makes me rip it apart and make it entirely something else.
Book reports ruin books.
Why would I do that to something that I love?
Here's a picture of my tattoo. Maybe you're tired of it, but I DON'T CARE.
P.S. My shoes are up at Jodifur's. Go see!