Just Something

Isn't it funny how people surprise you sometimes?
Good or bad, I've seen it both ways.

The best though, are those who upon first impression seem... well, sort of vacant. And then you come upon something (never mind what or where you found it) that proves just how wrong you were -- and just how deep and complex they really are. I love to be blown away by such things. Within the realm of human relationships, it's what I live for.

Today was such a weird, creepy, unnerving day. Actually, I guess it was pretty awful. I woke up feeling queasy... and it was almost as if that physical feeling interrupted and invaded my brain too. Kind of like, my body felt so gross and tired and then it seeped into my emotional state and suddenly I felt this creepy sense of depression and foreboding.

Then again, maybe it was just the weather. Creepy weather we've had today -- ominous clouds blowing in on the howling wind, but not really dropping any rain or threatening any thunder (which really might have been refreshing.) And anyway, it kind of makes me sad how much the weather affects my mood.

But then I got a letter from one of my best friends currently in West Africa for the Peace Corps. And that just seemed to make everything better somehow; things seemed suddenly more normal. Made me realize that this nasty day wasn't going to last any longer than twenty-four hours. Then tomorrow comes.

How refreshing to actually write in my blog again! After some bloody *ahem* decided to come along and leave behind some self-righteous b.s. to try to make me feel about two inches tall, I'd been kind of wary about even writing here again. For heaven's sake, you know -- there's ALWAYS someone who's just got to stir up trouble and ruin someone else's peace. It's like a perverted thrill for some people, offering their unwanted "two-cents." And those people are usually the ones who like to think they're the be-all and end-all of creation. Bloody crap.

I was thinking earlier today about how I spend so much of my time writing and drawing and painting and posting. And going back and looking at it all over and over again. It is almost as if I'm trying to figure myself out. You know how everyone is always blabbing on and on about "discovering" oneself and "learning about" oneself -- through various means of spiritual exercises and meditation and journals and all that.
I've written pages and pages of papers and anecdotes and kept about a million sketch books and I keep going back to them and rereading as though I were trying to understand what I meant by all of it. Where it came from and if it's any good? Most of what I write isn't very clear and organized and ideas that become artwork usually have some pretty ambiguous concept behind it. So I have to keep going back to it. It's weird.