We are unusual and tragic and alive.

I wake up at 5:41 a.m., feeling less than satisfied. The lights turn on, still nobody feels home. I muster up enough energy on this particular morning (and many like it shall follow) to apply the bare minimum war paint upon my face. I think fleetingly about the irony–my constant lack of breathing room, juxtaposed against my need to clog pores Monday through Friday.

For a moment, perhaps just after I’ve switched the CD player to the correct track (and there always is a correct morning track) I feel like I might be prepared. It is this same routine, mixed with random, minor, often microscopic variances that keeps me buzzing about. So there we are, I walk in feeling first like I am ready. Then like I am nothing. And again, as if I am maybe really ready this time. For a while I think, perhaps it’s all a joke, surely it must all be a joke. So I get back to fussing about, creating new lists for a new day, pushing things back…pushing people back. (Maybe pushing people out?) Just when I feel like I’ve settled in as a monotonous drone, one who has perhaps been forgotten about all too quickly…I am enveloped. I grasp on to words, expressions, scents and even breath. And just as quick as you’ve forgotten me and I’ve tried to forget you, I’m back on fire like a real live wire.

I cannot decide if I love to remember, or love to forget. Though I know for fact I am horrible at forgetting. And I loathe, absolutely loathe knowing when I’ve been forgotten on purpose. Even if I’ve asked for it to be so.

Oh, to sit awake late at night illuminated by a poor desk lamp, a palette of oil and a cheap canvas. Those were the days. The raw days. I should have been a dancer. I should have been an artist. I should have been an actress. I should have opened a savings account. I should have paid attention in math class. I should have gone to France. I should have could have would have. And now I’m going to spend the rest of my life filling a huge void created before age 23.

In other news, my first batch of M.A.C. cosmetics arrived. Back to paragraph one.

Posted by Katelyn in art, career, love, makeup, mundane, passion. 4 comments

Comments

{1} emmysuh:

I have to have just the right song for the drive to work. Something that slowly adjusts me out of dream world and into Must Function in the Real World…without losing my ability to be artsy during my freetime during the day.

I’m trying to balance working a real person job with being an artist, a dancer, etc…somedays, it works better than others.

I think as long as you post here about your dreams, find beautiful and inspirational pictures, etc. you’re doing your part and not losing that part of yourself.


May 11, 2010
3:30 pm

{2} emmysuh:

Also, is that title from anywhere, a song or poem, perhaps? If not, can I write it down to maybe use someday?

Let me know.


May 11, 2010
3:31 pm

{3} admin:

Quoted from “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius”

Dave Eggers


May 11, 2010
6:58 pm

{4} kalen:

I wish I was better at forgetting (and letting go). It’s probably one of my biggest faults, actually.


May 11, 2010
9:04 pm

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