1 August 2002
hobble hobble

10:23 am.

So I am finally moved in.

Yesterday was hell, though there was a day long respite from the humidity, at least, that made it all more bearable. Though I ended up sitting on the sidelines for much of the day because, in my chronic klutziness, I sprained my ankle.

I think I've sprained my ankles about three or four times in my life, it just seems to be something I'm prone to. And it always happens when I am just walking, not doing anything requiring too much coordination. And that's how it was, I was walking down the stairs and I reached the landing in front of the house, and my ankle just buckled under me and I felt it pop. An involuntary "Oh fuck" come from my mouth as I crumpled to the ground. And so here I am, Thursday morning, lame and pretty much confined to the house since it was my right ankle, and operating the gas and brake pedals is really painful.

There's so much I have to do today that I really need to do but can't. Get a change of address form at the post office, pay my electric bill in Lansdale and close the account, close my verizon account and stop by my old house and say thank you to my landlords.

Grr. Grr. Grr.

The problems I mentioned two days ago was neatly resolved. The roommate (Sara) came and saw the room in question and ended up really liking it, and so all is well in our little dwelling. She and her boyfriend spent the night, and then Liz, the other roommate, and her mother are coming over, so at least I won't be totally alone and bored the entire day. I supposed to work today, and really thought I would be okay, until I woke up at 6 am in pain. I could hobble around, but not be on my feet for nine hours straight.

With this above picture, I give proof of my acute need for new bookcases. After much internal debate and endless perusal of the IKEA catalog, I've finally settled on the IVAR system. Mostly because it's unfinished pine and I plan on painting it a searing shade of orange. I looked up orange in my feng shui book and all it said was "stimulates hunger". Dammit.

the living room

But anyway, the IVAR. I need bookcases and some cabinets, because right now I have nowhere to put my clothes. There are boxes and boxes of clothes and shoes (who knew I owned so many shoes?) and they need a home.

Plus at the Korean market today I saw some really nice bamboo mats, really big ones, for only $30. So I think I'm going to get one and make my room into a South Pacific-ish theme - flaming orange drapes and duvet cover, flaming orange bookcases and a bamboo mat on the floor. Lovely.

4 August 2002
on the up and up

I went to the opening of a friend of mine, Rachel, on Thursday night. It was the first time I had been out of the house that day, and the little hour excursion resulted in my ankle swelling up like a balloon, but it was worth it, because Rachel's show (which was almost entirely painting) was just amazing. It was so far beyond anything I had ever seen some of out of Tyler. Most of the work that comes out of Tyler is, in my opinion, crap (and I'm inclined to include my work in that lot), but this body of work was beyond undergrad, beyond grad level, even. It was a body of work of a professional.

I was very happy for her. But later on, I started to feel bad about myself. I always have this reaction to really good work by a person I consider to be a peer - it makes me feel incredibly inadequate. I've been feeling like that for most of the summer, really. I'm not sure I have anything to say at all. Either that or I have so much to say that I just can't decide. I'm really not sure what's worse. I can't do this to myself for my entire life, I'll just drive myself crazy.

5 August 2002
cue ball

I've realized recently that I have an incredible fetish for bald men. Okay, not male pattern baldness, ew, but guys that shave their heads. Why? Don't know. But there's this guy who's on the show Crossing Jordan, and he's bald and kind of quiet and tortured and deep and just...meow. Who would've thunk?

6 August 2002
regularly scheduled programming

I spent most of yesterday hanging this damn show that I'm in. It was in Manayunk, and of course with Manayunk comes hills, very steep hills that are a pain to get up and down, even without a bum ankle. The pieces that I submitted were about 30-40 pounds each. I swear on my great grandmother's grave that I will never again make heavy wall pieces because they are a bitch and a half to hang. Then I was forced to hike up the hill once again to my car to go to a hardware store in Roxborough to spend twenty bucks on hanging materials that I felt the gallery should've had to begin with. Then, after I was done hanging my pieces, I was conned into hanging the pieces of the dumb schmucks who couldn't bear to hang around to do it themselves.

Grr.

So I realize, once again, that this is the life of an artist: a bitchload of work. I think the show is going to be really good, though.

Here's the information. If anyone is in the Philly area and can stop by, please do.

7th Annual Emerging Artists Exhibition
August 7 - September 8, 2002
Reception: Thursday, August 8, 6-9 pm.

Artforms Gallery
106 Levering St.
Manayunk
Philadelphia, PA 19127
Wed, Thurs & Sun, 12-5 pm. Fri & Sat 12-9 pm.
215.483.3030

http://www.artforms.org

After I escaped, I stopped by school and ended up spending the rest of the day with Lindsay. She went to put a deposit down on a luxury apartment at a complex in Roxborough, and I came along for moral support. This particular complex was known especially for its social scene, since it was populated by mostly young, single professionals. As Lindsay and I sat there in the rental office, I felt like I was in a television show. Every single person that passed through and every single person that worked in the office was extremely attractive. All the woman were tall, blonde and almost unbearably hip. All the men looked like burgeoning young doctors or dentists, polo clad with natural, wholesome good looks and golf course tans. It was bizarre, almost Stepfordish. Based on what I saw, Lindsay's fear of old maidedness should be pretty much unfounded.

Of course, among the genetically blessed I felt much as I did in 7th grade. Sitting in that office, I was suddenly conscious of that class of people, in their early to mid twenties, the attractive, upper middle class kids destined for professional jobs, a gorgeous spouse, adorable childen, and the mansion somewhere on the Main Line. And for the first time, I realized that I had no reason to envy this class of people. I had no desire to get on the treadmill of yuppiedom. Because it just wasn't what I was going to be, and it wasn't what I wanted, either.

It's kind of weird. I've been watching Sex and the City lately, and one thing I don't really understand about the women on the show is this race against time. The desperate need to plan everything. "Well, I have to get married by 25 if I want to have kids by 30, which means I have to meet my husband in the next two years, or do I want to put off marriage and kids to have a career, but what if I'm suddenly 35, unmarried and too old to have kids?" I've listened to Lindsay and various other people fret about this, and I just honestly don't understand it. Maybe it's because I have no desire to have kids, or that I'm fairly sure I'm going to marry John at some point. But I don't feel rushed at all. Sometimes I joke with John that we've been together for two and a half years, we should really be married by now. And some girls I know would've been shopping for big white dresses by this time. It's just seems so unnecessary, all this stress. You can't plan anything like this. You can't plan your life. When I graduated from high school, I didn't count on falling in love with a man 26 years my senior inside of a year. But it happened, and I'm glad it did.

listening: 1200 Curfews (Disc 1), The Indigo Girls
reading: The Sexual Life of Catherine M., Catherine Millet

7 August 2002
creepy crawlies

I couldn't fucking sleep because I swear I could feel ants crawling all over me. Yes, I have an ant investation in my bedroom. I squirted some moth spray on the baseboards, and they seem to be dead, but still, it gave me the willies. It was just one of those days that I couldn't stay asleep.

They had a piece on September 11th on the Today Show this morning, about previously unreleased audio and pictures. Watching it absolutely wrecked me. I just can't deal with it, I had to fight down the urge to throw up. It's funny, when it first happened, I didn't have that reaction, but now, everytime I see the video footage, a low panic starts in my gut. I would rather just deal with my grief and the memories without constantly being reminded of every single detail. I don't know how I'm going to deal with the anniversary. I may just stay in a hole that day.

listening: The Today Show
reading: The Sexual Life of Catherine M., Catherine Millet

8 August 2002
ants, part 2

Okay, so I found out why there were ants in my bedroom. I had a bag that held my lunch from several days ago, and in it was a forgotten, and now rotten yellow delicious apple. It was covered with ants. I threw it away, and haven't seen an ant since.

Yeah, Martha Stewart I'm not.

9 August 2002
sex and home furnishings

The nesting instinct has set in. Wednesday was IKEA day, and my Mom, Lauren and her friend Jess all came down from Lebanon. I called up Drea the night before and she came along too.

A Bethany smorgasboard. It was like Disney World for grownups. I'm lucky I got out of there only spending $112. I got all my shelves (I vetoed IVAR in favor of STEN because it was cheaper and chunkier), a MUCK galvanized steel bin, two whisks (Drea talked me into this, what use do I really have for whisks?), a set of scissors, a large shallow wooden bowl and three orange paper DROPPEN lamps. Then this morning (in a haze of sinus pain) I went back to exchange one of the DROPPEN lamps that had broken, and I also picked up an APA toy box, which I think will make a nice storage bin. Almost everything will be painted orange, though I haven't had a chance to get the paint yet.

DROPPEN lamps and APA toy box

After IKEA, we went downtown to fabric row, which is on South 4th street, to find fabric for my drapes. I had almost given up when I finally found the most perfect delicious red-orange chiffon, and at 5 bucks a yard, was a real bargain. Most of the stores are tiny, dusty little places, so crammed with bolts and rolls of fabrics that you're forced to turn sideways to even get into some of the aisles. The place where I ended up buying the perfect orange chiffon had an abundance of feather boas hanging from the ceiling and walls, including a rainbow pride boa.

What else did I get? A fabulous bracelet made of chinese coins that makes noise everytime I move my hands, and a pair of Nine West clogs made of some sort of orange and brown cowhide at a consignment store. It was a day of bargains and good luck.

The good luck ended yesterday, when I woke up feeling like my head was going to explode. I managed to make it to work yesterday, but no such luck today. I just couldn't hack a Friday night at Borders. I'll spare you the details of my symptoms, but sufficed to say, it ain't so pretty.

I started reading the most wonderful book yesterday at work - The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. I'm dying to find out what happens, but I forgot to borrow the book last night, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow. I've already given up on my most recent loaner from Borders, The Sexual Life of Catherine M., because it was just so godawful. The entire book consists of her having group sex with strangers. And the writing isn't even slightly salacious or erotic, just very deadpan and unemotional. Good lord. It takes real talent to make a book entirely about sex boring as hell.

listening: Synchronicity, The Police
reading: The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold

10 August 2002
mmmm

Just got the most marvelous album at work, don't blame me, I had a 50% coupon. Norah Jones, Come Away with Me. I've always thought it's far better to have an interesting voice, as opposed to a technically perfect voice. And hers is just that, a perfect blend of aching vulnerability. Kind of like Carole King, only better. Sigh. I saw her on MTV (MTV!) last week when I was home, and was intrigued.

I actually lasted at work today. Near the beginning I felt miserable, but as the day went on, I felt better and considerably more chipper. I read more of The Lovely Bones and wondered over the five stars that Rolling Stone gave for Bruce Springsteen's new album.

listening: Norah Jones, Come Away with Me
reading: The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold

13 August 2002
spent

I just realized I've spent the last couple of weeks writing about things I've bought. Which is really just boring as hell, but Drea and I went to Rices' Flea Market in Bumblefuck, Bucks County and I bought more stuff:

1. a tan pair of Steve Madden clogs that make me look like I have duck feet.

2. a small wooden jewelry box made in India.

3. wooden paddle that was used as a chocolate mold in China.

4. two cds (No Need to Argue - The Cranberries and Version 2.0 - Garbage)

5. sandpaper and nails.

6. two large cartons of strawberries and some nectarines.

We got there very early, but even so, by 10 o'clock the heat was almost unbearable. Drea bought more antiques. I'm continually amazed by her excellent taste. Her apartment is filled with Chinese and Middle Eastern things - masks, carpets, baskets, bowls, chairs, small tables - and she's always adding to it. I told that if she keeps up this pace she'll have to open a museum in about 20 years.

Anyhow, I've been very good about writing often. But it's not been very interesting, I think. I feel like that's how my life's been lately. Just doing and doing and doing and not really thinking. Writing for writing's sake, just for something to be here. Arrgh. In a holding pattern. For the first time in a long time, I'm scared to go back to school. I'm scared to even touch clay, because I'm afraid I'll have nothing at all to say.

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