(no subject)
May. 22nd, 2003 10:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aintbrokeFor no real reason, I am having a bad day today. (I say no real reason, but really it's a culmination of a bunch of little things, none of which ought to matter, but all of which somehow do.) This makes me grumpy, which isn't a state I occupy very often, and it annoys me that I'm grumpy, which makes this a horrible vicious cycle.
I am not a runner. I don't enjoy it, it's frigging hard, and (AND) it's boring.UGH. However. I have been running for a while now, because I have to do something to keep me moving, or I start to go crazy. (ADHD. You know how it is.) So, despite not liking it, I've been running about twenty miles a week (Oh hardcore I know.) all school year and I've found that running is a lot more fun when you don't feel like a weakling when you do it. But, of course, now that I'm home, at my base elevation (which is only five hundred feet higher than I'm at school) I can't run at all. It oughtn't bother me, because I know about elevations, and recovery time, and blah blah blah, but it still makes me mad that I'm huffing and puffing after four miles. (It doesnt' help that both of my parents are in training for a mini-marathon, and are running twelve miles before breakfast- daily.)
That was point one. Point two is my sister and mother. For exposition, my little sister is thirteen, and overall, she’s fairly normal. My mother is not thirteen, and is also fairly normal. They have the relationship from hell. Which is probably pretty normal. (Right? Most teenage girls don’t get along so well with their mothers.) However, being home has made me feel guilty for being born first.
Look. I’m mellow. I never had angst, parental issues, identity crises, backstabbing-friend problems. None of them. I was grounded, balanced, and such an academically involved geek I dropped out of school so that I could learn things. That’s who I am.
And Kiddo’s being judged by that standard. She’s not into school; she’s into clothing, make up and MTV. She wants to play on the basketball team, but not shoot hoops with my dad. And that’s fine by me, because she’s still my sister, and she’s plenty doofus to make up for her supposed “normalcy.”
So I’m sorry that I was born first, because not only does she have to deal with all this crap, she’s also got to keep proving that she’s not me. (It doesn’t help that we live in a small town, and every adult who sees her has to ask how I’m doing away at school. In her shoes, I’d be a little punk too.)
They’ve been fighting almost constantly since Saturday, and I’m not sure what I should be doing. I can’t be here for five weeks (the extent of my summer at home) with them acting like this. Frankly, I don’t think I’d make it through two weeks. Something must be done. I think Kiddo is entitled to her own idea of fun, even if that does involve sitting around playing computer games all summer. And it’s been incredibly frustrating to see my mother acting as childish and vindictive as the thirteen year old.
Point the third comes from having a messy room. I know it’s silly, but it’s hard to think straight when you can’t find a clear spot on your floor. It should be the easiest thing on this list to deal with, except that it isn’t. I’m not sure what to do with any of this junk, and GAH. I’m highly tempted to throw it all in a random box and forget about it till I get back.
Point numero quarto: The Art Nazi. Class was yesterday. This teacher always gives harsh criticism. I expect this from him, but usually it’s kind of blown out of proportion and I can shrug it off. The world will not end because I have incorrectly deduced the ratio of hip to arm in a twenty-minute figure drawing. So when Monsieur le AN goes off on a rant, I can accept that it is the wrong ratio, make a note so as not to repeat the error, and move on. However, yesterday, I could not draw at all. It felt like I’d never held a pencil before in my life. It was bizarre, it was frustrating, and when the Nazi commented on it (in his usual yell) it hit home. He had a point this time, and that makes the tirade much harder to ignore.
Point Five: There is no refined sugar in my house. What's with all this "healthy" stuff? I want some COOKIES. DOES NO ONE BAKE ANYMORE?
And now, a few things that I may not have mentioned, that are on a happy tangent.
I finished a very big painting in my art class this semester. (Five feet square) The problem with paintings of this dimension is figuring out what the hell to do with them. I don’t have five feet of wall space in my house. I don’t have five square feet in my basement to store the damn thing! So obviously, I had to find someone who wanted it. This may have been easier if it weren’t a very large painting of a very naked man. Since I’m taking the same art lab next semester, my professor said I could leave all my stuff there over the summer, so I had a little leeway for storing it for a few months.
But then! At our final critique/potluck, my professor asked if he could buy it from me, to give to his sister as a wedding present. She’s come by the studio a few times, and had really liked it, so he felt that my very large painting of Naked Potter would be perfect hanging in the living room of a lesbian love nest. This makes me happy, because 1). I made money with which to by paints; 2). I don’t have to store the painting; 3). I never have to see the painting again, ever; 4). There is a big naked man hanging in the home of lesbians.
I am going to SPAAAAAAAAAIN. Tickets have been booked, itineraries have been thrown out the window, and summer is just good.
I am not a runner. I don't enjoy it, it's frigging hard, and (AND) it's boring.UGH. However. I have been running for a while now, because I have to do something to keep me moving, or I start to go crazy. (ADHD. You know how it is.) So, despite not liking it, I've been running about twenty miles a week (Oh hardcore I know.) all school year and I've found that running is a lot more fun when you don't feel like a weakling when you do it. But, of course, now that I'm home, at my base elevation (which is only five hundred feet higher than I'm at school) I can't run at all. It oughtn't bother me, because I know about elevations, and recovery time, and blah blah blah, but it still makes me mad that I'm huffing and puffing after four miles. (It doesnt' help that both of my parents are in training for a mini-marathon, and are running twelve miles before breakfast- daily.)
That was point one. Point two is my sister and mother. For exposition, my little sister is thirteen, and overall, she’s fairly normal. My mother is not thirteen, and is also fairly normal. They have the relationship from hell. Which is probably pretty normal. (Right? Most teenage girls don’t get along so well with their mothers.) However, being home has made me feel guilty for being born first.
Look. I’m mellow. I never had angst, parental issues, identity crises, backstabbing-friend problems. None of them. I was grounded, balanced, and such an academically involved geek I dropped out of school so that I could learn things. That’s who I am.
And Kiddo’s being judged by that standard. She’s not into school; she’s into clothing, make up and MTV. She wants to play on the basketball team, but not shoot hoops with my dad. And that’s fine by me, because she’s still my sister, and she’s plenty doofus to make up for her supposed “normalcy.”
So I’m sorry that I was born first, because not only does she have to deal with all this crap, she’s also got to keep proving that she’s not me. (It doesn’t help that we live in a small town, and every adult who sees her has to ask how I’m doing away at school. In her shoes, I’d be a little punk too.)
They’ve been fighting almost constantly since Saturday, and I’m not sure what I should be doing. I can’t be here for five weeks (the extent of my summer at home) with them acting like this. Frankly, I don’t think I’d make it through two weeks. Something must be done. I think Kiddo is entitled to her own idea of fun, even if that does involve sitting around playing computer games all summer. And it’s been incredibly frustrating to see my mother acting as childish and vindictive as the thirteen year old.
Point the third comes from having a messy room. I know it’s silly, but it’s hard to think straight when you can’t find a clear spot on your floor. It should be the easiest thing on this list to deal with, except that it isn’t. I’m not sure what to do with any of this junk, and GAH. I’m highly tempted to throw it all in a random box and forget about it till I get back.
Point numero quarto: The Art Nazi. Class was yesterday. This teacher always gives harsh criticism. I expect this from him, but usually it’s kind of blown out of proportion and I can shrug it off. The world will not end because I have incorrectly deduced the ratio of hip to arm in a twenty-minute figure drawing. So when Monsieur le AN goes off on a rant, I can accept that it is the wrong ratio, make a note so as not to repeat the error, and move on. However, yesterday, I could not draw at all. It felt like I’d never held a pencil before in my life. It was bizarre, it was frustrating, and when the Nazi commented on it (in his usual yell) it hit home. He had a point this time, and that makes the tirade much harder to ignore.
Point Five: There is no refined sugar in my house. What's with all this "healthy" stuff? I want some COOKIES. DOES NO ONE BAKE ANYMORE?
And now, a few things that I may not have mentioned, that are on a happy tangent.
I finished a very big painting in my art class this semester. (Five feet square) The problem with paintings of this dimension is figuring out what the hell to do with them. I don’t have five feet of wall space in my house. I don’t have five square feet in my basement to store the damn thing! So obviously, I had to find someone who wanted it. This may have been easier if it weren’t a very large painting of a very naked man. Since I’m taking the same art lab next semester, my professor said I could leave all my stuff there over the summer, so I had a little leeway for storing it for a few months.
But then! At our final critique/potluck, my professor asked if he could buy it from me, to give to his sister as a wedding present. She’s come by the studio a few times, and had really liked it, so he felt that my very large painting of Naked Potter would be perfect hanging in the living room of a lesbian love nest. This makes me happy, because 1). I made money with which to by paints; 2). I don’t have to store the painting; 3). I never have to see the painting again, ever; 4). There is a big naked man hanging in the home of lesbians.
I am going to SPAAAAAAAAAIN. Tickets have been booked, itineraries have been thrown out the window, and summer is just good.
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no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 01:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 07:23 pm (UTC)either he would spit his potatoes out through his gorgeous haitian nose or would be so turned on there would be a massive orgy on the house.
*brainfuck*
no subject
Date: 2003-05-22 09:45 pm (UTC)We would all explode and die.
(Even without the massive orgies!)