decrepit

so i think i mentioned in just my last post being old before my time. its quite topical especially when you consider how cool i was last night.
at around 9 thirty i think (feh who knows with this sunshine) i cleaned up dinner, made my self some hot chocolate and shuffled down stairs to bed. i laid there in bed reading my (autographed) knitting book sipping my coco and feeling not just old but also sorry for myself. i was in pretty bad shape. i had earlier in the day pulled something in my back whilst stretching. i still have a well developed bruise on my forehead from where i slammed into a cabinet (getting to know the new kitchen you know) and i was having a hard time getting comfortable.
so on the ever growing list of things to buy goes a husband...you know the wrap around pillow thing.
which i bet is something else i can find at costco!
the excitement of that last statement stems from the other members of my household being newly indoctrinated into the wonderful club that is bulk garlic and more pounds of produce than i can carry.
it is times like these when im not feeling my best that i take comfort in being a consumer. contrary to popular belief i CAN fill that whole inside me with material belongings.. that whole is created by old worn out material belongings and dull things that used to be shiny things.

new digs

I am a home body, probably and old lady before my time.
Once and a while I really do enjoy a night out on the town but for the most part I’m quite content to stay in and entertain myself.
I am really good at entertaining myself. So much so that it had led some people to think I must have been an only child.

So I’ve just moved into this new place that lends its self to staying home and hanging out in.
And yet
I feel a great bit of frustration so much so I just crinkled my nose when I thought about it. It’s just that I want it to be perfect and warm and inviting and to also look like I live there. But it just takes so much effort. And a hell of a lot of money it turns out.
I used the analogy of treading water. Once you get all your clothes unpacked you realize you have no where to put them. So you buy stuff to hold them. The floors are cold so you buy rugs-- well good thing cause you don’t actually have any furniture to sit on. And so on.
Oh and here I am complaining about my lack of furniture and such when just this morning I ran into our lovely curator of history who was explaining how she was able to salvage some of her clothes from her fire obliterated apartment.

I’m just saying moving is not conducive to being lazy and that is where I am running into problems.

Breaking Up

Dear apartment
I know this is going to be hard for you to understand.
Because you haven’t done anything wrong.
I just feel like its time to move on
You’re great
And we get along great
You’re just not what I need right now
And I think you know it
I will miss you a lot
But I think you will find someone else soon
And you will see that you can be happy with someone else

Can i hold that for you?

A while back I mentioned something about addressing my manly levels of testosterone at a latter date. Well I just looked at my calendar and what do you know, it’s a later date. Also I would rather do this than something else.
So I always had a sneaking suspicion that I was a bit off. Not in the head but in the hormone department. Several “doctors” I saw brushed it off and said that obviously I was fine. I looked fine is what they meant. Well if medicine is a visual art I got a degree in that so I figure I should be getting paid more.
Frustrated but not fehcockteh
i finally went to see yet another new doctor.
She actually also said to me that I looked like my hormones were fine. Meaning I wasn’t qualified to serve as bearded lady at the local freak show so things must not be that out of balance. However she honored my hunch and we did some tests. Sure enough – testosterone levels suitable for a dude. This one factor was responsible for a bevy of related problems (see post below re: whacked out ovaries)
My doctor and her nurse we perhaps unsettled by my joyous reception of my PCOS diagnosis. They hadn’t spent ten years feeling lousy and enduring inexplicable physical abnormalities.
But yeah I was relieved. Mostly because there is treatment for this. It involves regulating my hormones but not by any drastic means. So less androgens it is!
So I've been thinking a lot today about this treatment and signs that it’s working. I like progress, I like to note it.
Which brings me to the real impetuous for today’s post--
This morning when I was getting dressed I was sort of astounded and dismayed at the size of my ass.
We have reached new heights: badonk-a-donk-sir-mix-a-lot-heights.
I could be over reacting to what is really only a slight change. Or not.
Maybe I’m just super disappointed that this is the body part that is embracing femininity so rampantly.
I was fine with my posterior region, I would have been much happier with some anterior augmentation. Really... Ok... with that.
Anyways there are children serving life sentences in prison so I guess I should quite complaining

how's my aura

so i was out this evening enjoying some fine local music in a fine local pub. i will in fact make the new staying out all night- going home early.
on my way out my psychic acquaintance grabbed me and said something along the lines of
"make art your soul is screaming for it"
now i know what your thinking
crock o'poo fluff talk
the truth is i saw her on my 24th birthday for a private consultation and she said amazing things that i still think about now. no lottery numbers or anything solid. the psychicness of it is debatable but it was inspiring.
so i don't mind listening to what she has to say
and i do think i should make more "art"
and people close to me tell me that
and i agree with them
the problem is
when you say my soul is screaming for it; more than inspiring me it brings me back to my real problem with me making art.
i think if my soul needs anything its to create. lucky for everyone this usually means lots of cooking. i like that
its immediately satisfying and no one questions it. no one wants to know what i chose red peppers instead of yellow. or what it means when i make brownies in a heart shaped pan rather than a regular rectangular one.

i always hated being an art student because i hated other art students. my art never had the content everyone else's did
it didn't represent much of anything. and people seemed to be unsatisfied with that.
too much explaining went into things that didn't need an explanation.

i think i just lost my point which is precisely why i don't believe in my making content based art.
its not that i don't have anything to say its that my soul quite honestly doesn't care to express itself in a screaming manner by way of paint and such.
i just want to make things
and making things is expensive
but making food isn't
and its tastier