so i am off to the bar.
i am feeling very... unpretty lately. the more i try the worse it is. so its jeans, t-shirts and boots for the rest of me days. *sigh*
so this week has been that.
and fighting with the other.
and losing my job.
and all confidence in myself as an artist being undermined and questioned, just because some board of stale has-been fuckers tell me i should have a "responsibility" as an artist, that my work is juvinile. and many bad things.
i don't know. i really have no will right now to look forward to more of the same... this life. this rut. this stinking, flooding, festering city that i love and hate and that is going to eat me alive some day.
and i am tired, and the past is disintegrating behind me, rotting, and the future... ha. i could give a shit. i have nothing i am moving forward into, i see nothing, feel nothing and... well. whatever. and i think i keep tromping forward because i am too stubborn, too dumb, and too afraid of change to grow some balls and just... stop. i don't know how to quit. the ghost of my pride. faded and faultering is holding me up by my boot straps and whispering that... i ... am... better than this. and i laugh. and laugh. what else? why fucking bother... it istoo much trouble now to start making adjustments. maybe i will find... something. dumb. to help me feel better... maybe. maybe i will cut my hair. maybe something. something small. a start....
i am feeling very... unpretty lately. the more i try the worse it is. so its jeans, t-shirts and boots for the rest of me days. *sigh*
so this week has been that.
and fighting with the other.
and losing my job.
and all confidence in myself as an artist being undermined and questioned, just because some board of stale has-been fuckers tell me i should have a "responsibility" as an artist, that my work is juvinile. and many bad things.
i don't know. i really have no will right now to look forward to more of the same... this life. this rut. this stinking, flooding, festering city that i love and hate and that is going to eat me alive some day.
and i am tired, and the past is disintegrating behind me, rotting, and the future... ha. i could give a shit. i have nothing i am moving forward into, i see nothing, feel nothing and... well. whatever. and i think i keep tromping forward because i am too stubborn, too dumb, and too afraid of change to grow some balls and just... stop. i don't know how to quit. the ghost of my pride. faded and faultering is holding me up by my boot straps and whispering that... i ... am... better than this. and i laugh. and laugh. what else? why fucking bother... it istoo much trouble now to start making adjustments. maybe i will find... something. dumb. to help me feel better... maybe. maybe i will cut my hair. maybe something. something small. a start....