bluegrass.

A couple of weeks ago the roommate and I had a long talk about how she thinks I haven’t been doing the things I love anymore. That I’ve just stopped. I don’t make jewelry anymore. I’ve been having trouble reading at my normal speed. My unfinished canvases have remained just that – unfinished. The rocking chair on the front porch hasn’t been touched even after I finally decided on a color for it and purchased the paint.

The reason she was bringing it up was because she said she thinks that instead I’ve been dwelling on negatives when what I need to do is remember me and make me happy. And do all those things I love to do. And get back to that feeling I have when I finish something and I’m so excited to show her and my mom and everyone else within a 10 mile radius.

(I think it really has to do with learning when I read The 5 Love Languages for Singles that I’m a big fan of positive affirmation, but here here.)

Saturday morning I set out to the front yard, covering the grass in newspaper (to little avail), turning on my music, and I got to it.

I got to redoing the rocking chair my grandmother gave me about 8 years ago because I saw great promise in it. It just took me a little while to finally get around to it.

I mean, was it so unattractive in it’s raw state?

Really, picking out a paint color for something you’ve had that long? Pretty difficult if you ask me. Because I didn’t go with what I would have done 5 years ago, or 2 years ago, or even last year.

But that’s not saying I can’t change it a year from now if I want to.

The bad thing about this is that when I saw my grandmother yesterday she was all “I have another chair for you! I can’t wait to see what you do with it! Do you want me to bring it when I come back into town on Tuesday?”

And I had to look at her and say, “Nana, it took me about 8 years to get to this one. Maybe we could hold off on another one? I’m becoming the random chair person.”

tossing it out to the universe.

I write things down frequently. In a small notebook I keep in my purse. On word documents I save with random titles in a folder labeled “Personal.” On scraps of paper in my room and on my desk at home. In the margins of my staff meeting notes.

Most nights, either in my head or on paper, I write a note to someone. I draft an email. An email to any number of people. An email I never end up sending.

Sometimes I think the reason for this is that I’m looking for something. Or that I’m trying to get to a conclusion. I’m trying to understand.

My biggest fear, this very moment, is not having that clarity. I don’t know when sometimes it’s just too much. Or when it’s not enough. Or when I’m supposed to get a hint with a friend or when I should reach out. One more time. Try again.

Most days I go back and forth.

Two days ago I would have told you my biggest fear was cancer. Two weeks ago I would have told you cancer didn’t scare me. How can it scare you when it’s seemingly inevitable, when both your parents have it? Two days from now I will find out if I can go on not being scared anymore.

Monday I decided for the umpteenth time that I don’t like the direction I’ve chosen to pursue professionally. I haven’t made any changes to fix this. But I feel like recognizing it (albeit again) is a step in the right direction.

I sat in my room the other night, floating on oyster shots and beer, and thought of the things I want. Like really want. The things that I would like to accomplish for me. What I want out of 2009. What I want before I’m 30. The simple things. The measurable ones.

I want to learn how to sew. With that brand new sewing machine I’ve never used that I got, ahem, two years ago. I want to know how to use it. Well.

I want to play a couple of rounds of golf. Because last year? In 2008? I didn’t pick up my golf clubs once. Except, well, to move them from one apartment to another.

I want to play some good tennis. And I want to watch some good tennis.

I want to go to as many college baseball games as I can. And I want hot dogs.

I want to run. Far. Just because I think I can’t.

I want all of the half finished canvases I have piled up to be finished. Done. And I don’t care that that requires me to use oil paint for one and that that takes a day or two or way more than that out of my life. I want them finito.

I want to be published. Somewhere other than my company’s quarterly magazine and the newspaper I freelance for. And I want to be published for something that is not boring. Because what I write for each of those? Bo-ring.

I want to figure out my laptop. I will finish MacBook for Dummies. And yes I purchased that for myself.

I want one person – just one – to tell me that I’m wonderful and that they love me. And that they can’t imagine their life without me. And won’t.

That’s what I want for 2009.

intention is everything.

This is what I did last night:

Then, I came to work this morning and got booed. Because Clemson fans that we are, we can’t appreciate our rival mascot. Well, I know what El Boss likes, and maybe he’ll be a fan when he sees it.

Last night I had planned on getting bid sheets written up for the auction in 2 days – count that: 2 DAYS! – so that I could just come in here this morning and type them into the template and click print.

Well, last night I watched 13 Going on 30 back to back as I painted for 5 hours. And then, when I was ready to go to sleep, had put clean sheets on my bed, I couldn’t close my eyes until Walker Texas Ranger ended. Oh Chuck Norris. You’re so special.

diverged.

I realize now that it was stupid. That whole idea of “meant to be” with someone you can’t, you soon realize, even lean on as a friend.

I see the lines that stretch the walls of my life and know that while they may not, in fact, age me, they strike chords within my heart. They provide the pillars of my being. They are my hope, my disappointment. They are my anger and my pain. They are that guy I trusted that let me down. Or the one who didn’t call. They are the friend that didn’t check on me when he knew I was having a rough week. They are the causes of my standing tall and even of my crumbling.

“[He] was not, on his best day,
good enough for you, sweetheart.”
must love dogs.

Saturday night I sat on the floor of my den, surrounded by a sea of reds and blues, the colors of two different canvases, two different worlds. Two colors, so different, going in two different directions, towards two different objectives. And yet, side by side on the pallet, they were beautiful.

It was only chance that brought them together. The whim of my desire to paint a calm and subtle canvas for a friend and my sudden urge to paint a very distinctive canvas for myself, with a bright red piece of coral as the centerpiece. Simultaneous projects. Side by side. And here these two colors were, as if saying hello to one another.

And I found something remarkable in that.

my life today.

Last night, I lost at bunko, just as I did last month. Meaning, I lost the most rounds. Except last night, I tied in losses, so while I got my money back, I actually had to split it so I only got half.

* * *

These are the paintings I have hanging side by side in my bathroom. The thing is, I kind of like them, J.Crew inspired and all. And if I take them down, will I sell them?

* * *

Me: “Man, this week has been weird.”

Coworker: “Why?”

Me: “I don’t know. Just has been.”

Coworker: “Gets worse.”

* * *

Though I tried to get good pictures, these are the earrings I made this weekend. They’re nothing spectacular – just me fooling around with some different things. I need to go get some more beads but seeing as though the best I’ve gotten are from Salt Lake City, I’m finding myself a little spoiled when I go searching around Columbia.

* * *

So when Cute Boy said, “I’ll be in touch” last Tuesday, what he really meant was, “Don’t expect to hear from me again.” Part of me wants to email him just to, kind of, see what he has to say. Another part of me just wants to ignore the whole situation like I usually do.

"sleep through the static."

“You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.” albert camus.

If you really wanted to ask, the answer would be loneliness. What I’m feeling is loneliness. And despite the fact that I do not have a problem with this as a condition of life, and am not – truth be told – actively searching for a solution, the loneliness seems to infiltrate me from every aspect of my life.

I am lonely at heart, yes. Mainly because strings of disappointments from people who I, honestly, should have no expectations from, keep coming. Because even when you have no expectations, you do. Most heavily over yourself.

I am lonely in friendships. Every day the thought seems to cross my mind to engage in some sort of activity, the simplest of activities, that would be fun. Real fun. Like just getting up on Saturday morning and going hiking. Or fishing after work. Or taking a half day and going shopping in Charlotte. Or needing a friend to go to a pig pickin’ party you got invited to and don’t want to go to alone. Those things, where it’d be really great if you had a sidekick. And, daily, I am left wondering why I don’t have that. And, in essence, wondering what is wrong with me. Because, I’m from here, and I’ve been back almost 2 years, and I do have friends here, but all of them are in these heavily committed relationships that require them to only spend time with me when their boyfriends or fiances or husbands are preoccupied. And that, just plain truthfully, isn’t all that much fun. Or adventurous. So it sucks to be lonely with friends.

I am lonely in work. I am disappointed. I am wanting respect and not getting it. I am having, over these last 2 weeks, the revelation that there is more to my life than this direction. And that I need to find it. Because since I have been back, since I have finished school, I have not been exercising my creative mind. The things I love to do. Those things I relish in, I have forgotten about. I had heard of that happening, but never truly believed it could.

Allie: “I don’t paint anymore. I used to paint all the time. I really loved it.”
Lon: “I didn’t know that.”
Allie: “Yeah.”
Lon: “So paint.”
Allie: “I will. I’m gonna start.”
the notebook.

switching directions.

Now, I tend to be a rather crafty person. I’m not suggesting they’re all successes, I’m merely suggesting that I try. Really hard. And to be quite honest, in the latter part of this year, I have found it increasingly difficult to find time for said projects. So, I will merely share a couple of my most recent doings.

My chair. Now I know it looks scraggly and all, full of imperfections – just like me. But I like it. And it’s fitting. I like the wood that’s aged. And I like how the colors aren’t perfect. Okay, so it’s eclectic. That’s just the way it is. (And really, all I did was find it in a shed at my Nana’s house in the country and after a year or so with it, I reupholstered the seat.)

And here you see my Christmas presents for my coworkers. This was no easy feat.. and the sole reason I have had paint on my fingers for the past week. Oh well. Onward to next year.

life imitating art.

I’m a painter. Have I ever said that? I don’t know if in so few words. But I love to do it. And in the end.. the product tends to come out okay.. like the pieces of a puzzle finally fitting together. The canvas, so white and fresh and new, like something fragile and vulnerable sitting before me, daring me to touch. And my ideas, a whirlwind of what I’ve seen, things I feel. They’re two polar opposites, waiting to collide. They’re waiting for my touch, my hands, to make them blend, to make them.. beautiful.

It’s like the insurgence of something much greater than I. I like it.

It’s something.. fun. Truth be told.

But.. so much of what I love about painting is what I hate about life.

How about that?

Anyway, my best friend, who lives in Mt. Pleasant with her husband is just.. incredibly talented. To say the very least. I cannot brag about her enough.. and so I won’t try. It’s kind of a.. see for yourself, gasp all your own kind of talent she brings forth. We tried to paint side by side in college once, each working on our own projects, and it ended up being like something out of a Family Circus comic strip. “Stop looking at mine!” “No, you stop!” “Yours is better!” “No yours is!” “I quit!”

Funny things is.. we were working on 2 different images, 2 different surfaces, and 2 different mediums. Sisters, we must be.

At some point, Elizabeth is going to come back to me about following through on our grand plan.. that once we have a backer (which we have one offer at the moment) we will open up a store all our own.. all our creations.. all our work.. sweat and tears.

And I will be faced with the questions of can I move to Charleston? Can I leave this town which offers me so much and, at the same time, nothing at all? Can I go? So many questions exceed that. Will we be successful? Do we have enough to fill a shop? Will we come out alive?

At some point in life.. you have to decide whether you’re going to make the jump or sit on the sidelines.

[picture: Painted in May of 2006.]

work in progress.

“Convinced she can do everything she’s ever dreamed of with just a little more space.” story people.

So I actually have a few things I could do around here today. Or.. not. I’m pretty sure the only thing productive I happened to achieve yesterday was my attendance in our staff meeting. Of which, mind you, I’m sure I probably offered nothing of any value.

But today is a new day and I have more daunting tasks piling up.. such as organizing my boss’ receipts, filling out a check request, and going over some letters to be mailed out sometime.. mm.. in the next 3 hours. But I just walked in the door from being gone on my lunch break and these things I’d put off from this morning to “take care of after lunch” now seem further and further down my to-do list at the moment.

And I had one of those productive lunches today too.. which is always a good feeling. I’ve had a painting in the back of my car for a couple of months now. I happened to notice it as I was pulling out of my parking space and decided to go buy a frame for it. Hoorah. I found one. I’m officially getting my life together. Not like I have anywhere to hang it.. but then again, that’s the fun of having canvases piled up in your house.. and an easel tucked away in a corner.. and baskets of paint under the bed.. and paintbrushes beside the sink. I’ll NEVER have enough places to hang things. I guess that’s why I’m probably supposed to be selling work. Hmph.

I’ve been kind of stressing about today for about a month. I don’t think I’ve even voiced my frustrations about it with anyone. Well, maybe the roommate, but it’s me that has to do it. What might that be? Attend two meetings at the same time. I realize that people accomplish this quite often. I mean that’s pretty much the way the working world goes. And the little reporter at The State told me when I realized this was going to be a problem, “I have 4 meetings scheduled at the same time.” That’s all well and good for you, but I’m just trying to get my paycheck. (In all fairness, I’m quite certain she can just have people that work for her attend the other meetings in her absence.) And how, when writing my articles is completely dependent on my attendance at and notes on these meetings, am I going to pull that off? And more so, they’re not just meetings I can slip in the back of. I will be making somewhat of a scene. And oh I HATE scenes. And that’s why, contrary to popular blogging, I am quite well adjusted to being looked over. When I emailed my editor about my dilemma, seeking any advice, all she told me was to pay attention to what would interest readers and steer clear of details about first and second readings. How is that helpful when the meetings start at exactly the same time and follow exactly the same format? And did I mention, they’re not located in the same building, let alone the same town? So needless to say, it’s going to be interesting to see how this plays out. Pick up a copy of the paper on Friday and let me know.

“If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.” Virginia Woolf.

a slice of [my] life.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how to avoid certain conversations.. how to prevent phone calls from happening that I don’t want to happen.. (what’s the point in doing things I just don’t want to do?). I’ve been thinking about how to prolong or delay or diminish false desires or, really, rid of obligations.. or merely the feeling of obligation. Is that even possible? Is it realistic to desire getting what we want and avoiding the willies?

When you think about the little things in life that are the have tos and the need tos.. where in the midst of all of this are the want tos? I want to start selling my jewelry. I want my paintings to be something sought after.. asked for.. coveted, even. I want for all this to be made my reality. But when I face those [inevitable] obstacles.. I quiver. I freak out. I wonder.. is the price worth being paid? Is it worth starting a venture to have to leap over the necessary impediments? Everything I hear screams risky and unpredictable. I need a financial genius, a web developing connoisseur. I need people who believe in me. How much do I believe in myself? Sometimes I just feel like I’m on that ledge.. stepping with one foot off that diving board (the high one, of course) alone. What got me down that path? What helped me climb that ladder? All I’ve heard my whole life are people telling me “you can.” Where are they when I need to hear “how can I help?”

I sat with McHottie today for along time.. talking about my future.. my life.. and everything he thinks I can do and be. He told me.. matter of factly.. this is the path you need to take. It’s the smart path. It’s the political route. It’s not that artsy and bohemian road not taken. And it’s the mature and responsible and adult-like way. It’s the direction I’ve been gearing to go forth in. It’s what my head keeps saying to me. It’s what my dad would encourage. It’s grad school for 2 years and class for 2-4 nights a week on top of 1 full time job and 1 part time reporting gig. It makes sense. It puts me above the rest (thus far). And it puts me exactly where he was at my age. I trust that. I trust that having that same major and same minor from that same undergrad university and then seeking out that same grad degree at that same grad school at that same interval in time.. will give me that same confidence and that same youthfulness and that same kind of ruffle and quirk that makes everyone adore him. I just wonder.. is it possible to do everything you should do and everything that makes sense.. to achieve the “on paper” career and still be able to gather the same stars and love the same things? And who in my life will push me in which direction?

It’s weird to think of where I’ll be in 5 years. I’ll be 27 and 6 months old today. I could still be in the same building in a nearby desk, possibly buried knee deep in national legislative affairs. I could have a grad degree from my rival school and wear a snazzy girly suit every day. I could live in Charleston and own a store with my best friend and stress and laugh and live and paint and be. I could love and follow a path that even though is unfathomable and completely out of mind right now, would be and feel right. I could be sitting at this same desk in this same funky house and know the backroads and the backgrounds of all that thrives around me. I could explore and travel and travel write, even. I could be published [in a novel and not just a local city paper] if I’d force myself to sit down with a pen and paper. I think so much of me is so open to all the possibilities.. I’m just hoping they’ll come find me instead of me having to sort through them. (I can’t even decide how to get my hair cut.. so instead, I don’t.)

“Shake, rattle and roll.”