unfortunate repetition

It's happened again.
Things went well for a while and then he vanishes mysteriously.
He would resurface from time to time via text message appologizing.

It leaves a void. Being left without a reason.
No benefit of not knowing what you did to prevent it from happening again.
Just a one line notification on a social networking site that he is now
in a relationship, something I was told was unwanted. Which I suppose makes
it even more surreal and still more odd that I feel as I do.

He's a good guy, I know.
He just found something more, I suppose.



Work is starting as far as my thesis is concerned.
Design meetings all week.
Words followed by ideas that turn into concepts.
Then come sketches and concept drawings. More meetings.
Changes and revisions. Keeping busy.

Trying to stay out of the bars, trying not to drink too much.
Trying to get out of the habit of smoking while drinking.
May as well reduce the drinking.
Trying not to make drinking a means of feeling better.

Not entirely too down though.
I've a new appreciation for mornings.
And cooking.

Home (Pronunciation: \ˈhōm\ Function: noun)

Etymology:

Middle English hom, from Old English hām village, home; akin to Old High German heimšeima family, servants, Sanskrit kṣema habitable, kṣeti he dwells, Greek ktizein to inhabit home, Lithuanian

Date:

before 12th century

1 a: one's place of residence : domicile b: house2: the social unit formed by a family living together3 a: a familiar or usual setting : congenial environment ; also : the focus of one's domestic attention <home is where the heart is> b: habitat4 a: a place of origin home to spawn> ; also : one's own country home and abroad> b: headquarters 2 <home of the dance company>5: an establishment providing residence and care for people with special needs <homes for the elderly>6: the objective in various games ; especially : home plate

— at home

1: relaxed and comfortable : at ease at home on the stage>2: in harmony with the surroundings3:: knowledgeable on familiar ground at home in their subject fields>


I grew up carrying luggage.

In near constant motion I would move from family member to family member.
Partly out of convenience to my parents who were all but twenty when I was born, and partly out of a odd
juvenile form of wanderlust. I asked to move. I asked relatives if I could come for extended visits.
I traveled good distances in the summers. From age three until around twelve I was nomadic.

Or maybe I was a tourist. Homeless.

Being considerably older than three years old now, I am increasingly aware of the effects of my childhood affinity for travel has had on my later years. I grew up away from my parents. Thousands of miles away sometimes. I crossed a sea and began to speak differently from them, developed a palate unknown to my siblings, I grew to be comforted by foreign objects and cultural projections. A little american-born european.

When I came home the adjustment was always a struggle. Things would not work the same way, from door knobs to accepted behaviours. Words changed. People regarded me differently. Being a mixed race child in the eighties who had a continental accent and artistic tendencies was not so common. More so in the small North Carolina towns my mum began to live in with my step-father, who made it clear he disaproved of both me and my upbringing. Thus I never felt at home.

Home later came to be New Mexico. And now New Orleans, a place that while maintaining a absolute sense of United States bravado also recalls the cool grandeur of childhood landscapes.

I am still as displaced though. Having chosen the work that I do makes me even more of a vagabond, traveling from job to job with only school as an anchor. Will I ever buy a house? Will I ever plant a garden? Will I ever take root?
Eventually I imagine I have to. Right? Eventually you find a spot that is a fit and you find that you are quite comfortable. You have a job that is not in danger of becoming obsolete or does not end in six weeks, a house that you like quite well and begin melding yourself with it. Buying furrniture that is not partly disposeable or easily
resold.

Eventually I might get there, but being a little homeless has not worked out terribly for me. I suppose it makes me even more a world citizen not to be tied to one local, ventureing out on vacations and always returning to the same spot. Which sounds fantastic, I would very muck love to settle down with someone and plan exotic getaways. But for some one who has lived their life as an exotic getaway that can be a little claustrophobic.

Maybe I need to live aboard an areoplane, or a ship. But how does one garden on a plane?

(post suggested by Cassien G.)

A Meditation.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive God to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Caroline of the North, in Exile

I am looking forward to getting back to NOLA. Tomorrow morning at 6am I will be on board the plane.
Alot of signs have popped up telling me that although I love that town, it's not really where I am meant to stay.
At least for now. But signs change you know. The future is infinitely maleable, things change, I change.
One day at a time. No expectations. I think I'd like to introduce myself to Dennis' Donald, he seems like a
great guy and if I wait for Dennis to do it I might die from the wait. What do I have to loose? I mean, Really.



I'm reading Camus again. And getting through most of the articles in all the old style mags I have stashed here at mums.
She has also gotten into it and is now a fan of Esquire.



I've developed a small crush on Cinnabon. All those times I passed it up in airports thinking that it was way too sweet and
a little hokey. I was wrong. It's a little ray of light. Sticky, nut covered light.

I'm a painted lady.

Resolutions

1. No Expectations

2.No Complaining

3. No unsolicited opinions

4. Be more open

5. Get past my ego

6. Don't take things personally

7. Two ways of doing things: Accept them and do the best I can, or Enjoy what it is that I do. If not, stop doing it and leave.

Like water on toast..

I have been so incredibly busy. The time of the 16 hour day has returned and I am near my wits end.
I suppose it would not be as horrible as it is if the people surrounding me could behave as adults ought to.
Back biting, scheming, gossip and expected alliances abound and it makes me want to be less and less in same
space. Still as my design professor said to me on Wednesday, " You are given a ball of shit to eat. Why argue? Eat
fast and make it good. Otherwise, you complain and it just takes that much longer to eat. And you have to eat it, Baby."

I'm still wondering how long i have to wait until I can make logic as aurally stunning as this woman.

Still, since I've resolved to see this tragic turn of fortune through to the end, I intend to at the very least distance
myself as much as possible. Refusing to let myself become a rumor-fed, petty bull-shitting hack. It is a bit sad that
I find myself in this position in a University (ranked 37), and sadder still that I have to witness the enthusiasm with
which this behaviour is carried out. Speaking with a friend about this it was decided that neither of us could dare
show any sign of weakness or lack of confidence as "they would begin to circle."

On other fronts:
- I am enjoying my recent weekend outings to various pubs and bars with non-school associated people.
(Lets not poop and dine in the same place, shall we?)

- Finding loads of interesting music hidden in my computer from last year that I did'nt know I had.

-Met a cute guy who maybe thinks I am cute as well.

- Nearing completion of the Maps Project.

-Have been approved for $162 of Food Stamps from Hurricane Gustav, which is like being handed a month long free lunch voucher to Whole Foods (which is 6 blocks away.)

-Managed to do laundry and uncover my floor.

-Turned down an offer to marry and move to Milwaukee, despite reasonable arguments to convince me.

- Have begun work on my MFA application to the Yale School of Art.

Hurrication

I'm still a little at odds. Not shaken or shocked. More of kind of detached resignation.



This building is a post office. The sign outside the door alerts patrons to honk their horns in order to notify the clerk that they need assistance. I am so not in NOLA anymore.

Waiting to hear if your city/school/home/belongings are still in full operating order is kind of like being in the ER.
It's all you can do to wait.

The Orange was not too upset at the prospect of the 9 hour drive.

He did spend some time with his head in a cup holder though.



I've holed up at Leah's (fellow classmate & set designer) house in Temple, Texas with several other hurricane flee-ers.
Last night we had a fantastic dinner of Chicken a la Grande and Gumbo. A bit of New Orleans comfort in a spoon.

The four present musicians played some jazz and I pitched a tent in the back yard at 1 am and climbed in.

Maintaining Consciousness while Moving

So I ran again last night and did not experience any sort of out of head experience.
I have other things to make up for it though. Such as my tea cup balanced on a charging elephants bum of a
financial situation. Why do people pay talented people so crapily(two p's in crapily?)? Why do talented people
work for such crappy pay? Seriously, not just me, someone had to set the precedent. That said why do I do it?!
Partly because I honestly can't do anything else, I've only ever worked in theatre thereby ruining my chances
at any sort of viable occupation at this point. Do I stop caring about what I do? Do I only give as much design
as I'm being paid for?
"Here Love, Here is your half a suit and partial tie. Be grateful, the rest of the cast are in hefty bags and knee socks."
I don't think I could do that either. A friend just sent me a message telling me to stop working at realizing the dreams
of others who have no regard for my own...it sounds clearer in french. I think this is quite wise, and true, only in this
business the only one who ever gets to really dream the majority of the time are the directors. And the bloody
playwrights who dream up swimming pools as stage sets and multi-cast actors who change clothes in four lines.

I've decided to focus on set design for a while. And to give Tulane another semester since they are paying me to be
here. I still plan on submitting apps to other programs. Or who knows. Not me, not this instant anyway.

As thought that weren't enough. Of the two guys I've been seeing one is moving to North Carolina, professining
his adoration the whole time. I tried a long distance thing before and it was enough to know better than to do it again.
The other is adorable, but about as constant as a comet. Plans were made to see Batman this evening, and I've heard
nothing. What I really need are friends. I have friends, great, fantastic, melt in you mouth friends, just none in the city.
Everyone I know is married, otherwise engaged, or a little to close to the line of Acquaintance to be comfortable.

Harbinger of Doom?

I knew things would get odd and complex when I saw the guy across the street mowing his lawn. Not just mowing his lawn, mowing it with a weed wacker. All of it. While wearing tiny running shorts and a sweater around his shoulders.

Things making my throat a little dry:

- I am costuming a play written by the junior theatre history professor at Tulane.
-I'm still Illustrating the huge book that is part of the PhD of the senior theatre history professor at Tulane
-I've been told that I am being looked at to costume one of the first plays of the season at Southern Repertory Theatre.
-I am due to start work on my first realized set design for the son of a fantastic woman, whom I respect and admire greatly.
-I have found myself in the odd position of being involved with two people (sort of) after being with no one for so long.
-I'm trying so hard not to let my self destructive behaviour take over and ruin possibly fantastic friendships, if not relationships,
as it is so fond of doing.
-I'm being paid WAY too little for the amount of work I am doing.

All these things sold separately are easily managed. I seem to have gotten the big kids meal pandora's box though.
what can I do but try to stay the course.

Just keep swimming.
Just keep swimming.
Just keep swimming.

because I have to

Having been trained so long to think artisticly about things, to obderve and memorize details and processes, I am a little daunted with the now foreign acedemic world of theatre.
Last week was the begining week of the department of theatre at Tulane. Wednesday through friday I was breifly exposed to how my life will work. One thing became incredibly clear, there will be alot of reading. Deep analytical devouring of plays, theories and histories. I am thinking to myself, "Am I ready for this?" I am used to doing this with paintings, drawings, sculpture. Tangible, visual things made for that purpose. But theatre starts with words, and words and I have been at odds for a very long time.
Initally, what drew me to theatre was that it is in its essence also a tangible art form. You make something happen, and it's live. However, I have forgotten all the underlying turmoil and gravitas that goes into making the essence. Like the world of fine art, the world of live theatre is haunted by the same ridgid, egocentric and product driven traps. Occasionaly one can avoid these traps and work with others to produce brilliant performances. More often than not however a domino efect of toe-stepping occurs and the process becomes a battle of wills and wants rather than a collaborative effort.
Perhaps I've been spoiled in my past collaborations with fellow fine artists in undergrad or maybe I'm just more accostomed to working on my own. Perhaps both. More likely these are just the groanings of my old moorings being uprooted and transplanted to less comfortable surroundings. I'll just have to adjust and deal with the inevitable discomfort, which can at times be an amazing ally in the process of development. It gives you something to push against, and that is easier than pussing aginst nothing.
As for drawing, I really hope to continue my development. I came too far in the past two years to let it all go now. Time may prove to be a restriction, but with my mandatory theatre history class I am at no loss for sketching time. When I get more settled and have a mode of transport, I hope to start back on more large scale projects. I do miss the comfort and comraderie of the studio I left though. I suppose this is the test. In all sorts of unconsidered ways.