Everything’s fine today, that is our illusion.

Apr 28

I think I shall stay here. And become something else.

I relish that concept. If my world refuses to come along for the ride, I shall simply drive around them in circles. Dizzying circles of change and empowerment. All that will remain are shells used to assault a former life. I am creating my foundation, my armor. The harder you push, the further I’ll climb.

Watch yourself girl, no use being foolish. I came into this world a risk taker. Hesitating always, but risking none the less. And I remain the same…but age, interactions and experience are moulding me into a more calculated risk taker. Educated and well-argued defiance remains my core.

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There’s ink on my fingers, and suddenly I feel real.

Apr 27

I pulled crinkled pages out of the printer this evening, looked at my hands, and just as quick as I had scrubbed them clean–they were covered in black ink. I rubbed my fingers voraciously only to realize that I was smudging ink deeper into skin. And it hit me, like a train to the brain. I stopped and stared at these now dirty, stained fingers…swiveled my chair, and continued typing as if nothing was wrong. I had almost forgotten how it feels, ink on hands. It feels good. I used to paint with oils all the time in summer and go into work the next day looking like I hadn’t showered. Of course I showered. But those oils always lingered, and I liked them. I liked feeling as if my craft was always on my sleeve. Because it always was.

I’d like to think like the masses, and pretend like everything has fallen this way or that for a reason. I’m not modeling in Paris or nursing at the Cleveland Clinic because there is some greater, bigger plan for me. Sure. Delightful.

What a cop-out. Seriously? I am here because I made my life this way. I made choices. I was foolish, young and reckless. But I continue to make choices. And with a little guidance, a little experience and a little blind FAITH (in self?) perhaps those choices will lead me straight to the yellow brick road. In the mean time, maybe I need to stop buying shoes and start buying bricks. And yellow paint. Bright yellow paint.

I love you, Judy Garland.

(And I remember how crushed I felt when I learned that the horse in the Wizard of Oz was white. There were two, and they weren’t even painted. They dyed them with Jell-O and used clever lighting.)

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While we were on our knees praying that disease would leave the ones we love.

Apr 26

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Just another freak in the freak kingdom

Apr 25

A bounding pulse races through wires only to be temporarily halted at various points throughout the day. It is subject to sudden stops and starts, perhaps making it vulnerable but also always prepared to move.

Surprising amounts of time have passed since I’ve had the urge to cut my blonde locks or embellish this skin with more colour. I thought I’d beaten that part of myself, beaten it out like a Mexican rug on a hot summer day. But that element of self reinvention always reemerges. Perhaps it is this nuance which keeps this bird’s heart beating. Like a hummingbird, I spend so much energy flying that I must nurture body and mind constantly. And also like a hummingbird, so comfortable flying and racing about, I now find there mere task of walking absolutely painful.

Does society hold a special place for dreamers? Not the kind that live stagnant with their heads in the atmosphere (though surely it must be hard to breathe up there too). Rather, the dreamers who live fast paced, productive lives. The dreamers who follow direction, like loyal cattle…quiet and prolific, yet always keeping one eye out for the next great escape. We are the seekers.

Extraordinary thoughts and words flutter from the brains of a select few. These select few, if only I could gather them up, place them in my pocket, and pull them out in time for tea. But alas, tea time is different in all parts of this great, great world.

Marilyn knows what I mean.

And all I really want is to see real french ballet…

And drink real champagne…

And perhaps intimidate the masses.

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I’m a satellite heart, lost in the dark.

Apr 24

I am modeling in a runway show presented by Francesco’s Salon for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital next weekend. Today I stopped by the salon with two-day old hair, no makeup and sweatpants to do a trial. Not too shabby for a completely bare face on two hours of sleep…I can’t wait to see how it all looks in a week when we do full makeup and wardrobe. They are turning me into a 1940s blonde vixen, and I’m wearing the most delightful blue dress.


Sometime after the runway walk-through tomorrow I should be meeting with my realtor to collect the keys to my new home. Also on the growing Sunday list…grocery shopping, more grad school applications, bookstore, and mountains of laundry. Sundays are potentially my most important days.

For a myriad of reasons. I like Sundays. And it’s peculiar. Sundays are like little fresh starts…

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