I’m running around, trying to get things done. Yesterday was a small opening night for a Ryerson fashion student exhibition that I helped out with. I made the poster above and had a chance to assist with the curation of the whole affair. The setup team was great, especially since it consisted of the amazing folks that are a) in my curation class and b) that I am working on a research project with.
The event was held just over at the Textile Museum of Canada, which is kind of stellar since I am a volunteer librarian there. The loveliest part was getting to meet the wonderful lady that I volunteered with on Wednesday evenings before I had to move to a Monday day shift due to class conflict. She is a retired teacher and I absolutely love talking to her. I haven’t realized how much I missed our conversations until last night and I think I may switch back to volunteering every other Wednesday night this summer after the semester ends.
In other news, I am completely overwhelmed, floundering in a sea of confusion, while at the same time juggling responsibilities both new and old and trying to make it to the end of the semester without failing too much at life. Who am I to get paid to do work that I love (a silly little disaster girl who just finished two bags of Doritos in as many days).
Two excellent songs with the same title.
That is all this post is about.
Life is just getting super stressful these days. I need to relax and cross off things on my to-do list.
(Oh man, I need to make a to do list)
This past week was incredibly busy and yet I have only gone to one class. Just to clarify, that’s probably not very good. But I have written a very bad History of Costume midterm, handed in a gorgeous short story series six days late, acted as a faux bartender at a boutique party at my internship (I will write about it sometime), went to a burlesque show with a friend (who is more like a lover to be honest) and wallowed in hopeless ennui of pining after a boy.
Speaking of pining, it’s not a very good thing either. Unhealthy for one, creepy for two, and annoying as all hell for friends to bear with for three, so I’ll be capping that nonsense yesterday, no matter how pretty the boy is or how many sad love songs I have listened to in the past day alone. That is actually all I have been doing. Lying in my bed, pining, listening to sad indie love songs and honestly when has my life become an after school special (I am actually a grown woman, I promise).
A thing that’s happening: I’m reading Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente and I’m not sure if it’s both good and bad because on one hand I have something to project my fears and insecurities onto, but on the other it’s making me want to rip some hearts out and burn down a castle. What a terrible, terrible book. (And just to clarify, as far as I’m concerned, in my vocabulary terrible means that it makes me want to cry and laugh and feel more than ridiculous procrastinating grown ass women should feel when they have weeks ahead of them of work and sleeplessness and disasters.)
It’s been a while, but nothing special happened so far. My taste in music changed a little maybe? I don’t know, most likely the number of disasters thrown in the way of my shaky stumbling has increased exponentially.
But hey, at least there’s only one and a quarter years left until the end of school. Maybe then I’ll breathe easy? Probably not. I need to art more and this is the place I run to when art!guilt nibbles at my sentient conscience.
I desperately need to do some night-time yoga and follow it up with a glass of merlot. Reading week man, it’s the time to party hard and break things and be anxious over grown-up adult things.
My adventures in being a general human disaster continue.
…always ends up a mildly jarring experience. In a fit of misplaced enthusiasm I decided to update a) my online presence and more importantly b) my book portfolio. And so after a series of misadventures it is well after midnight and I am only halfway through really finishing what I set out to do, but now I have this set of photographs that I’m thinking of printing tomorrow.
Maybe I started on a slightly off-key note: putting together or updating portfolios is always terrible in its own way, as it brings up all the tiny insecurities (mostly of the “am I good enough?” kind). Still, it’s an excellent chance to take stock of things you have and things you need to do whatever it is that you need to do.
Apparently I decided that one of the (many many many) things lacking in my book was a bit of accessory photography compositions, and I’m pretty happy with how they turned out. Now to finish the fourth episode of The Hour, and finally sleep.
(Or not, hah)
I found an old mascara tube while cleaning, and I have a feeling that it’s about a year or so old. So an art medium it became.
It’s 12 am, and I’m cleaning my room. (It is actually necessary, which is sad.)
My only company is Tegan & Sara and my cat. I have an art philosophy essay that’s two days over due. One day I will look back at my life, and wonder about my choices.