It’s Like A Sickness

I am sick. Again. I am doped up to the eyeballs. And all I want to do is curl up in a ball under my desk and have a nap. My throat hurts, my sinus feel like they’re packed with steel wool and my itchy eyes are burning. It’s not awesome. As I sit at my day job, honking, sniffling and sore, I am reminded that I’m just suffering from a common cold. Hear that, Brain/Body. A COMMON cold. But right now it feels like an uncommon form of torture. I’m not a big pharmaceutical fan. I get foggy after taking an allergy pill. So, as the day has worn on, I have been trying to focus and write this blog. I’ve done writing exercises to stimulate my imagination- which has, but in more of a fever dream kinda way. I have brainstormed and pitched ideas, but they all seem to say the same thing, sadly that thing is in a language I can’t understand, let alone gesticulate. But here’s what I did catch.

Country music videos seem to all have the same directors.

Daytime television doesn’t make you feel better, unless you weren’t sure who your baby’s daddy is.

Conversations are best when both parties can hear them. As I am semi-deaf with head congestion, I don’t make for good company.

Even if you tell people you’re sick, they still want to shake your hand, which will only make you sick again.

I love Mel Brooks and Steve Martin. This is true even when I am not sick.

I don’t like to open my eyes underwater.

America’s Funniest Home Videos will never stop being funny. Cuz who would watch America’s Home Videos: a show about average people doing nothing funny like getting hit in the crotch, kids blowing snot bubbles and montages of people falling down.

Now, if these are confusing to you, imagine what my mindset must be to churn them out. So, I tried to write a blog. I really did, but ibuprofen had another idea entirely. And that idea was “ooohh let’s go to bed.”. So, I am about to crawl under my desk and set an alarm for when I can go home. Then Imma gonna get my sleep on.

The Starving Artist: Chapter 45: Headed For A Breakdown

In theatre school the teachers refer to breaking down emotional walls. You know, the walls that grow taller as you grow older. The walls that protect our tender hearts from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Breaking down these walls is essential to the growth of the artistic spirit, which needs to be free to flourish. This kind of breakdown is good, at least that’s what I remember those art theory teachers saying in hushed tones during my extensive vocal warm ups and extensive roll-downs in classes. My current breakdown however is nothing of the sort.

I am in the throws of an artistic transformation. I am trying to thicken my skin. I am trying to stand on my own. I am trying to get my act together- literally. But Rod-damn, it’s overwhelming. It’s been a long time since I felt as inspired and challenged as I do. I feel ecstatic to have found something that I do so naturally. Natural is not something I am used to being. I mean, I’ve always had a certain something. People could see potential. Teachers wanted to mold me. My Folks supporting my ‘artistic tendencies’. But nobody could figure out just what that special something was.

In times of great change, one often finds themselves, well, changed. And I feel like a werewolf, transforming back into a human. A transformation that is often overlooked in the werewolf mythology, due to it’s seemingly boring nature. But imagine the painful reversal of paws becoming hands, forced to stand upright, that thick coat of fur, well I don’t know what happens to that, but I’m sure it sucks. The shrinking snout is the only relief to the beast. Becoming something new is hard. It can be painful and overwhelming. So, as I willingly and wonderfully suffer, I sit happy, satisfied, transforming myself and breaking down. But I guess it could be worse. I could actually be a werewolf.

The Starving Artist: Chapter 41: Crafternoon Delight

This weekend was a beautiful one. The weather was clear and hot. The air was fresh, filled with all the smells of summertime. The din overcome with the sound of laughter and music. The drum circle beating for the heart of the city. I walked Queen St with a bounce in my step. I did something nutty…I crafted all weekend. I crafted hard. I spent long hours literally wrapped up, immobilized, stabilized and helpless. It’s left me tired and happy.

With the promise of help from Hubby and a truckload of patience, understanding and work ethic from BFF, we started to build the most complicated yet integral plot prop I’ve ever conceptualized. Together we sat nestled for hours in the front yard of my high-density city living building. With nosy neighbours and concerned citizens inquiring as to our wellbeing…I think they meant mentally. With oblivious disregard to their giggles and questioning stares we forged onward. Empowered by the knowledge that great things raise the most eyebrows.

I sat in the grass with my BFF for two days; fabricating indestructible props of plaster proportions. I have started to implement my dream designs, taking her generous offer to help build my act for my upcoming shows. I needed the help. Trust me, I am not the easiest person to deal with when I can’t just do it myself. I don’t like being sidelined. I like to be in control. I like to win and I like it when things are done right the first time. I should know by now that those are also qualities BFF posses, plus she’s more patient…A lot more patient. (Again BFF, Thank you & I apologize)

As every crafter knows, the dream outcome is a lofty goal. Everything is possible when you’re in the dream design stage, but translating it to reality, well, that’s a different story. I am happy to announce these messy, soggy, drippy and slow-drying dreams have hit their mark and surpassed their design. They have become perfectly moulded, weird, wonderful, dreamy and just plain amazing. I am proud to announce this as the most successful crafternoon ever.

Now, it bugs me that I can’t tell you the details of this secret project, but it is my hope the reveal will be worth the wait. All I want to do it tell you every little detail of all the detail oriented tasks I have assigned myself. Keeping a secret has never been my strong suit, I am more of an open neckline playsuit kinda gal. This feeling of checking things off my dream wish list is amazing…exhausting, but amazing. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt artistic. I haven’t been inspired to achieve. I was stuck in a holding pattern, circling boredom. I would sit with fingers crossed, mouthing silently; begging who ever is in charge of this crazy thing called life for a break…I have longed for the power to inspire myself. In these art projects I have found the fabulous combination of control and creativity. I think I’ve finally found my place upon the wicked stage. It comes from being a crafty Vixen. Finally, I found my art in the heart of the city. And I am happy.

On Track To Progress

How do you measure, measure a year?
In sunrise? In sunsets? In cups of coffee? In slightly outdated musical quotes? The world keeps turning, and everyday keeps sliding past like sand through the hourglass. So do the days of our lives. You are where you are now…but how should you measure your progress?

We have no control on the passage of time, it’s what we choose to do with that time that helps us progress. Two years is going to pass whether you go back to school or not. You’re 32nd birthday will arrive, whether you want to celebrate or not. All we can do is use our time wisely, or at least have fun.
Contrary to popular belief, time and progress aren’t the same thing. Older doesn’t always mean wiser, sometimes it just means crotchety and old.

Progress feels good. It’s not always easy, but knowing that you’re moving towards something is a reward in itself. It’s not as rewarding as an actual reward, but those are usually connected to lost dogs and pirate booty.

So, on this Thursday why not write down the progress you hope to make by next Thursday? Next month and beyond. Progress takes time and all we have is now. And then…but then doesn’t arrive until we start living in the now. Now, ain’t progress a fickle chick?

The Starving Artist: Chapter 40: Lordy, Lordy, Look Who’s Forty!

Chapter Forty! That’s the top of the hill that people always talk about it being all down hill from. Things are supposed to get easy now right? If it’s all downhill than I should be able to coast. Well, as with most hills, they aren’t measured in chapters. It remains the same height regardless of how you count. It’s just that those numbers seem to have lost their meaning. The journey I started with such a focus on my numbers has shifted. Measurements becoming about fitness and function. The work becoming worth more than the number of days hired. The Starving Artist has become hungry for something more than the numbers.

Upon realizing what a special anniversary this was I thought I should do something special to celebrate. So, I glitter painted a brazier and helped finalize the pink gemstones. While sitting surrounded by newspaper I altered my costume…again. I love that I can change my act by changing my clothes. Hubby, BFF and I sat inside this rainy Sunday and we laid the ground work for some serious crafternoons in the near future, and I found myself smiling. Giddy with the thought that I was finally feeling the support I’ve been looking for. That’s not to say there was unsupported before, but this feels like the act of supporting. An action, speaking volumes. We are quickly pouring the foundation that a good artist structure relies upon. It’s not a rush construction job either, this crew is all union. Quality control has become the focus of each task. Together we work until well after sunset, stopping for appropriate meals and unionized breaks, of course. Foreman Jilly makes sure of that. Her demands to play, snuggle and poo sprinkled evenly throughout the work. Plus you can’t argue with the littlest boss-lady. That’s just un-union-ly…right?

Alright, so I’ve reached a milestone. (I’ve been told to relish my wins) But it simply marks how far I have come, not how much further I have to go. (I’m still a sad sack. Except now I relish my wins) It can feel defeating, like you’ve already done some much to only get THIS! far. In these times of emotional turmoil I turn to the meme of an eagle and the black framed motivational plaques for help. Each journey begins with a single step. It’s not the destination it’s the journey. There’s always going to be another mountain. Take a deep breath and feel better. (Whatever that means) So, treasured readers (all 7 of you) here’s to Forty amazing…or at least completed chapters of The Starving Artist. And here’s to a Gazillion more *hopefully* entertaining blogs*cheers.**

**Melicious Manners does not support morning drinking

The Starving Artist: Chapter 39: Weight Watching

Summer is revving up and kicking itself into high gear. You know what that means? Teeny, weeny bikinis and sweating way too much. And all those shorts and tees from last summer season are now being rotated back into my wardrobe…the only problem is with the physical progress I’m making they’re sagging and sad and I can’t afford to replace them. I was taught growing up that appropriately sized clothing is an important part of looking your best. Clothes that are too small make even the sveltiest person look like an uncomfortable sausage. Though the flip side has baggy shapeless sacks adding lumps and bumps and blah to an otherwise ideal silhouette. I fall into the second category. Last year’s shorts are rumpled in the bum. The tanks droop in the neckline and arm holes. I look like a schmoe, in need of a serious $5000 makeover- tell me something new. Okay, enough with all that What Not to Wear stuff. Today, I realized that I have been writing about being an artist for the last 39 Mondays. Sometimes I’m happy, sometimes I am sad, but I am always creative…hopefully.

Over 40 weeks ago, I issued myself a challenge. I wanted to put up or shut up. It was time I started taking this little-performing thing seriously. It’s time I take what I want, instead of waiting for someone to give it to me. Now, those are all just adages that don’t make a whole lot of difference by themselves. I mean, Take one day at a time and write it beautifully in front of the setting sun, and all you have is a motivational sunset. It was time to take action. So, I started going to the gym. I started writing, creating and proving to myself (my toughest critic) that I was as talented as others told me I was, and more talented than I thought possible. Mentally, I’ve realized I’m wicked smaht *said of course with a Boston accent. Smarter than the average dummy and I can use that to my advantage; and should. Emotionally, I am still growing my thick skin but I have exposed more weakness this past year than in all my years before. Professionally, I have been looking over the occasional four leaf clover, but there hasn’t been much job security (that’s a beast). So, I am bumping and hustling to make ends meet; ensuring I still have time to pursue my bliss.

As for my physical progress, I have taken my own challenge quite seriously. Though to the casual observer, it may not seem like much… I mean, while home for Father’s Day I tried on a dress from Grade 8 and it still fit. So, when I say I have been this size my whole life, I’m not exaggerating. Though even I couldn’t believe it. I mean Hubby says I look better now than I did leading up to the wedding, which was so stressful I would forget to plan meal time. Now, I have doubled my athletic efforts, spending hours stretching, sweating and squatting. If I have dessert, it must be split with someone else- but I have forbidden myself to suggest it. I have cut down on my liquid calories, including my beloved patio season beers. I am trying my best not to eat after 9pm…I know it’s supposed to be 8pm but some days I don’t get home until then, and dinner doesn’t make itself. So with all those things in mind I have an update to my records…And though it may not seem like much, the winds of change are a’blowin’, and I love a good updraft.

Height 5’8 1/2″ I gained a half-inch and Hubby thinks it’s all neck
Weight 166.4 (+2.2 lbs)
Bust 38.5 (-.5″) whoo hoo!
Natural waist 31.25 (-.25″)
Hips 42.5 (-.5″)
Arm flex r:13.5 (+.5″) l:13.5 (+.5″) *Which way to the beach?
Arm rest r: 13 (+.5″) l:13 (+.5″)
Thigh standing r: 24.75 (-.25″) l:24.5 (-.5″)

Sweet Follow Through

The follow-through is key when swinging a bat, club or cat. But it’s also important for every other activity, ever. The follow through is the thing that gets you to the end. Progress is laid out: beginning-follow through-completion. The follow through is the toughest part. It doesn’t have the excitement of the start of something new. Or the relief and satisfaction of a job well done. It is all the work and all the struggle and all the boring, but it’s also all of the important.

It is well documented that I am a procrastinating Jane, a hoarding Pete and general sad sack. All of which I would debate you, but it’s hard to fight facts. Cuz I am also a truthy-goose. Now, of course all those terminologies are made up, but that doesn’t lessen their implied meanings. See how I followed through on that joke? It may not have gone exactly as planned, but by then I was committed. And when I am committed, it’s usually for 28 days. Or until I forget about it and start another project. But part of me says I may have stumbled off track, forgive me.

I am 6 pages away from being done a book I am really enjoying. It combines Zombie apocalypse and blogging, throw in a Unicorn and it would’ve been Xanadu. I am having trouble with follow through though, I don’t want this book to end. I can’t bring myself to sit still and take the head shot; effectively killing this book, and preventing it from “amplifying”. Where’s all my big talk now? I’ll tell you where. It’s hiding behind a stack of books I am not excited about. I wish every book gave me those funny feelings, wanting to rip through those pages. But they don’t and it’s too late; I’m committed.

Follow through isn’t such an awful thing…all the time. The journey can be fun when there’s a clear destination. Problem is follow through can feel like a stationary bike. Sure, it’s working, but wouldn’t it be better to be outside, really getting somewhere, even if you just had to turn around to come back home. I know I am not being very clear, foggy weather does that to me and it’s been a foggy year so far. What I want to remind us is to think about all the crazy different ways we can follow through. There are segues, unicycles, paddle boards and you get to choose whatever way you want. Remember, there is always more than one way to swing a cat; just make sure you follow through.

I’m A Poor Loser

I don’t like it when people beat me at things. I don’t like loosing. That applies to everything. I don’t like losing boardgames. I don’t like losing my grip on reality. I don’t like being #2. I don’t like losing jobs. It makes me angry. I admit, I can set my sights unrealistically high, becoming inconsolable when I am beaten by myself. And don’t even get me started when someone beats me at my own game. Let me just say: I am a poor loser.

My Bro and I are fond of saying we’re not competitive, we just like to win. There is nothing wrong with a strong sense of competition…unless losing throws you into a downward shame spiral. Of course, I am my own worst enemy. Which also makes me my own biggest adversary. My gym coach says I am a self deprecating heavy weight champion. She thinks I am too hard on myself. With the expectation of perfection on the first attempt. To be honest I have always worked on the theory if I beat myself up, nobody else will. And if I am not hard on myself, who else would be? I mean, I know we don’t have to look very far to find a dis-courtesy or disregard, but it is easier when I acknowledge I am a loser before being called one.

This Green Eyed Vixen hates losing, especially when the winner is present. I like to win prizes. I like to win contests. I like to win over an audience. I just like winning. In a few of my recent endeavours I have set specific goals for myself; only to be beaten by a classmate, friend or just random jerks. I am stubborn and determined and a bit lazy, but I think I deserve to be a winner. I guess I am just going to have to try harder and plot thicker. Now, if only I could figure out how to compete with only myself, instead of worrying about losing to people who don’t even know we’re competing. Maybe I should just tell them. And even though I may lose a battle or two, it might be sweeter if everyone I was battling knew they’d won. Then I could be the biggest loser, which is actually the winner at losing.

I ❤ being a Winner! So, don't be surprised if I loose it.

Apparently The Internet Sucks

I tried to post my blog today. I received a message it was successfully uploaded and I believed it. Successful, it wasn’t. It did not post and after a whole day spent without Internet, I just now realized it was still cycling in the no signal ether. I have decided I will post today’s blog tomorrow. Take that web. Take it and like it. To my adoring fans, I apologize. And it makes tomorrow’s blog all the more ironic;) Ha! Irony, ain’t it great? By the way, that was sarcasm, which is not the same thing.

The Starving Artist: Chapter 36: It’s Always Worked Before

Things have stopped working for me lately. I don’t mean to sound dramatic, or like the sad sack I am behind closed doors. But my life things aren’t working right. I am talking about that special ways I do things. The undefined things that help to work things out. Seeing as I like my life the most when things work out, I strive for that. And things have mostly always just worked out. Of course, they took planning and sometimes long hours and hard lessons, but I always found a way to work it out. And now, none of it is working any more. All those things I had relied on are letting me down and I don’t know what to do to get them working again.

You might say; “Welcome to Adulthood.” But I don’t think it’s that. I mean it’s not just that. Being a grown up seemed so simple to me when I wasn’t one. I remember watching decisions being made. I can see adults working things out. I hear the way they sounded so well informed. It’s amazing what I see now. The all knowing adults now just seem confused; mostly because I am among their ranks which somehow qualifies me as their equal, their peer. Absorbing information I am not ready to process. Adults; we’re all nuts.

You might say; “You’re being dramatic.” Okay, but if I feel confused and overwhelmed, how do people with real responsibility feel? Like, no matter how you slice it, someone, somewhere is way worse off than you. But that doesn’t always help me feel better. I just start feeling bad for both of us…And all those sad sacks in between.

Or you might say; “Just because you can’t see things working out, doesn’t mean that they aren’t, and you should just learn to breathe through all these irrational and energy wasting reactions, cuz it’s stupid to sweat the small stuff baby.” And I would say; “Oh shut it Hubby and help me clean the house.”

Alright, so there’s no grown up manual to how things work. There is no guide to working things out. Even the existence of working things can be questioned…If we want to get metaphysical about it. And though somedays feel like everything is wrong, or unfixable doesn’t mean they are. Maybe we just need to think about what does work and how we can work it out and what it feels like when it’s working. But boy, does that seem like a lot of work.