A Conundrum

Being me is so awkward.

This new job at the restaurant is taking a toll on my creativity. Of course, because of training, and mandatory wine tasting, and endless studying, these past two weeks have been a little hardcore.

Why get a job at all, you ask? Why not continue struggling to sell my paintings for a fraction of what they're worth, and keep telling myself that I don't mind wearing jeans I bought six years ago? Tell myself I don't mind shoplifting bags of dogfood from the grocery store? With this new job I have more money than I know what to do with, but not enough time. I'm exhausted, still trying to paint at least 30 hours a week...when I'm not walking my dog, studying different grape varietals, working as a cocktail server, or crying over lost love.

Speaking of that, it is so unnerving to be single again, and it's only sinking in just now. Sometimes, if I think about the good aspects of my last epic relationship, of course I feel devastated. When I think about alternative outcomes, such as me being married with a child, I feel ambivalent. Being utterly feminine, my biology craves that sense of belonging that comes with home, family, stability and love. Being utterly wild, my soul feels exalted that I dodged the bullet of domesticity. Of course, I'm too eccentric to ever have a conventional life, even if I did have a family. I would continue to create art, poetry, music travel and live passionately regardless of the path I decided to follow.

The hard part for me is that my biology is constantly distracting me. Yes, I mean that in all the implied ways. Passion and romance is essential to my personal happiness. For the last five years, I had someone to lavish love and attention on daily and as a result, I was able to focus intensely on my art.

If I were smart, I would stay far, far away from the thought of love, but I'm not smart. The problem is this...well, there are actually several problems.

One, I am slightly jaded and suspicious of anyone who is interested in me. Ulterior motives? I wish I had a remote control to fast forward and see the type of person they would be in 2, 3, 4 years from now.

Two, I live in Orange County. Enough said.

Three, I'm attracted to either manic depressive jerks, pathological narcissists, or people who live much too far away. Sometimes, all three. Honestly, I really enjoy manic depressive jerks and pathological narcissists because I suspect I maybe be both myself, and I can empathesize with a lot of the trials they have to endure (i.e. the world not understanding their brilliance)

How did I get onto this boring topic again? My brain is playing tricks on me, damnit, I was supposed to be blogging about art, not men.

The truth is that I am simply not over the last relationship and I don't think I will be recovered until I exact revenge (just kidding, Tom, even though you probably aren't reading this, since you've relinquished all technology). I think there was this poignant moment when I realized that we would probably never fix all the problems in our relationship. To be fair, I think I really twisted the knife by leaving for Europe, and that was what ensured that there would never be an "us" again.
When I was in Morroco, I bought a drum at an outdoor market for Tom and knew at the time that it probably wasn't an appropriate gift considering the hell we had been through prior to and during my trip. I was able to keep the drum safe and in tact for about a whole month, despite the fact that it's base was ceramic and fragile and I was carrying it around in a flimsy, unpadded backpack. It stayed in one piece through several flights and five or six train rides. But, when I arrived at home and opened up my backpack to give him the drum, it was broken into about twenty pieces. It was such a poignant, intensely sad moment... I arrived back at home after spending so long making myself happy, but when the crucial moment was at hand, the moment of presentation, I crumbled. Nothing had changed. In his presence, I was as hurt and weakened as when I left. A few days later I read this:

"I was never one to patiently pick up broken fragments and glue them together again and tell myself that the mended whole was as good as new. What is broken is broken - and I'd rather remember it as it was at its best than mend it and see the broken places as long as I lived." (Margaret Mitchell)

Of course, I read this and felt the significance of it immediately. But, what did I do several days later? I went to CVS, bought some Elmers glue, and glued the bastard drum back together, unable to fix numerous gaping holes and chipped pottery around the egdes.

Today, it sounds like shit and it's as ugly as sin.

I promise next blog I will actually talk about something substantial.