Lisa · Bumshell · Toya

I always truly believed that I would just grow up and be happy. I thought that was the way things were and the way things would continue to be - regardless of the things that went wrong during childhood. So finding out that life isn't just happy in general for most people came as great disappointment to me about two years ago. I always thought that things would just work themselves out, when in fact, they don't. It takes no small amount of work on the parts of everyone involved in my life, their life, to hold it all together and create a cohesive existence.

Although it feels like everything - dating is just small part of that existence. I don't date well. I'm not a people collector and I don't feel the need to rack up tally points on the wall, denoting my conquests (or lack thereof). I am an alien most of the time and can not ever seem to touch down long enough to truly connect with anyone in a meaninful way - at least romatically. Friendships are different, because frankly they require far less than romantic relationships. I mentioned once before that as an artist I have a deep fear of mental stability. Will it increase the value and meaning of my productivity because I'll have more time to think clearly if all the loose ends are tied up? Or will it all suffer immensely because my mental torture devices will no longer be running full steam ahead? If I stop bleeding this drama every single day of my existence will my art suddenly become devoid of meaning? Will I have to accept the idea of generic Thomas Kincaid style assembly line talent within myself? Deciding if I prefer the whorl and spike of highs and lows as contributors to the soul of my work or if I would rather sell tole paintings at craft fairs.

My insanity is meticulous in its design and every single day I have to focus it or else lose my way entirely. Overwhelmed by the normalcy I see in people around me my eyes dilate and narrow trying to peer into the way their machine works.

I'm thinking a great deal about graduate school these days. I like telling some parts of my story and keeping other pieces for myself. Those are my breadcrumbs; they help the stories find their way back to my core. If I decide to go to grad school - I'm going all out. I have a half finished psychology major that I would have to finish - I've been thinking a lot about Art-Therapy; the other option is to continue with Mayan Hieroglyphs - which would require me to attend a grad program at Yale. The Peabody is the foremost authority in that arena. It would also require me to leave the United States for a few years and that wouldn't be wholly unwelcome. I don't know what I'm doing. Finding focus has never been my strong suit. I do know that I'm tired of my current job. I don't hate it anymore, but I'm tired of it. I don't enjoy it very much, and I really only truly like about five people there. There is one girl who I connect with on an intellectual level and I wish that she were closer to my age group so I wouldn't feel odd in the friendship. It is rare that I meet someone who can talk about real things with - there is a piece of her that I feel is as tortured as I am, and I know that if were in a peer group other than macys we'd really connect in friendship. An intellectual, a bibliophile...a rare find in a department store. I don't know. Yale seems impossible and improbable. I never have enough faith in myself. If I chose art therapy, I could attend UCLA, USC, or UCI. Even for Studio Arts as a masters or PhD - I could go to CSULB, which would be close and they have an exceptional studio arts masters program.

Although I watched a piece of Chocolate last night - my television is so neglected that there is a fine layer of dust and cat hair covering the screen. I can't be bothered to clean it off though, because I know it will most likely be after the new year before I am in the mood to watch a DVD or anything again. It's so time consuming - watching a movie. I love it, but my head is too full right now.

My close neighbor, Sara, moved last week. Her apartment is empty and I am missing her and her boyfriend. I am nervous also that the one who moves in will be loud, rude, and in any other way similar to the beast upstairs from me. If the apartment wasn't in such disrepair and so tiny, my sister and her fiance would be moving into it. I can only hope that the Beast Upstairs will tire of having to play her music at a livable volume and move. If she does, my sister and Ryan will move upstairs and make my entire life in doing so.

Well, I'm off to enjoy a miserable relationship. I hope you all have a productive and exciting work week ahead. I'm taking kitties to the vet on Thursday (sigh, and nervousness) and then having dinner with my sister. I'll be happy when this weekend is over - work is going to be tiresome - but it's leading to depeche mode next week and after all, we have to have something to look forward to.

There are few things in this world like the sound of someone leaving you. Knowing that even though you had a part in their exit that it's not entirely your fault. Feeling the snap of the tendon that binds people together is just so painful - no matter what you've gone through with them - why wasn't it enough to keep it together? Not enough stretching kept it too taught - too full of problem. Suddenly, one person can't take something anymore and just as suddenly their fingers unclench from your arm, that piece of them that was holding you to the ground is gone. Even though it is killing to watch their fingers unfurl from your sleeve...there is peace in knowing that they made the decision that is right for them - as wrong as it feels for you.

I feel a breeze on my skin right now. It is cold and unwelcome. I don't know what to do with the empty space that is surrounding my heart tonight.

I feel obligated to post something in here though I haven't felt compelled to write in here since I started this journal.

I realised with this one how intensely private I am in my daily life.

Gosh. It's so scary to just be who you really are when you are out in the world. I feel as if I spend a major amount of time protecting.

I promise. At some point this will be where I get all real on everyone. Those of you who know my other journal, know the real me. It's the people that are in my daily life that might end up here that don't.

I promise.

Hopefully, of many.

Here I am. Posting as myself. With my name.

This one won't be Friends Only. This one won't be secret.

But I bet this one takes longer to really get me to open up.

Here's to a cup of honesty.