I sit in my room, on my bed. I had to dig my cute little fan out of the attic the other day; it's been really hot recently. On Saturday it even got up to seventy degrees; it's so weird, spring in Oregon. One day you can be sweating hot, the next you need three layers. Today was pretty chilly, actually; I didn't quite need a jacket, though if I had worn one it probably wouldn't have made much difference.
I play my music -- Gorillaz. I can't believe I haven't found the band before now; it's been around since 1998. Now, to catch up, I listen to them all the time, loud as always. I think about my blog, about how many promises I've broken trying to get it started up again. It crushes me, just thinking about it. I slide off my bed, go through my identical sketchbooks, one after another. Looking for one that isn't filled to the brim. Finally finding one of my newer ones, not quite full but getting there, I open to a blank page. Get out my singular fancy 4B pencil made solely out of graphite. I broke it in half today, in Sculpture class. I was trying to sharpen it and when it snapped I screamed and everyone looked at me weird. I didn't care about them, not nearly as much as I did about the pencil. I taped it three times, because I couldn't get it back together right.
I pull out that pencil now, hold it in just the right position. Start drawing. What am I drawing? I don't know. If I think about it too hard I can't finish it. So instead, I think of all the guilt I've been ignoring lately.
There are so many plans I have, so many things I try to do. Most of them don't work out. But then I push it harder, and that's when it falls apart. Like my homework. For most of the year, I haven't been doing it. And it came back to bite me in the butt last month, when teacher conferences came by and my parents went with me like always, only to find out that my grades were less than exemplary. And it was because I didn't do my homework. Any of it. Ever.
It just didn't interest me. None of it did. But what had I been doing to fill that extra time? It felt like nothing. Just a whole six months worth of nothing, that's what my life feels like right now. I could've been writing. I could've been drawing. I could've been hanging out with friends, playing video games, doing something else even slightly productive. But nope. Nothing. I know I've been wasting my life the past few months and it's killing me inside.
But then, halfway through February, I woke up one morning and realized that it sucked, doing nothing. Nothing was boring, it made me sleepy. It made me slow, and fat. I decided that wasn't who I wanted to be, so I started making changes. Wrote some optimistic posts on my blog. But habits don't change in a day. That takes time.
My hand moves quicker as I think harder. I stop trying to control my hands completely and just let them do what they want. My hands are turning grey, coated in graphite like they always get with this pencil. I used to complain to myself about the smudges it leaves, but now I actually kind of like it.
In most of my classes, my teachers won't let me redo the stuff I messed up on. Except for math. In math, you can always try again. Suddenly, instead of sitting around doing nothing and wasting my time, I was working on things, doing stuff. And it feels good, doing stuff. Even if it's something you don't like.
On Friday, I turned in my last piece of overdue homework. I'm as caught up as I can be. But I still feel weird, for some reason. I think it's probably because there are so many things changing lately; I'm doing homework again, finding new things to do, working on my drawings again. I feel like I can call myself an artist again. The season's changing, and I've started walking home from school. First time ever doing that on a daily basis.
Today in Health we got assigned this group project that relies heavily on drawing. But my group is this mix of complete slackers and leadership buffs, and to top it off the leadership girls are artists as well. They wouldn't let me even get a look at what they were working on at first, and when I quietly mentioned that I'd like to draw too, they assigned me instead to writing stuff. Which I'm not against, really, but it made me mad that they wouldn't even consider that I might like to participate in something that I perceive myself as pretty good at. It was like they were saying, "Well, you could be an artist.... but I've never seen you draw anything in Health class, so we're not going to bother." Yeah, like I just love to whip out my sketchbook in the middle of class. I've never seen them draw in class, either. And frankly, I've gotten into some mild trouble for drawing when I wasn't supposed to. I've been trying really hard to clean up my act. I think again about those girls. How am I supposed to get good grades on things and feel good about it when I didn't participate the way I'd like to? The entire time I was trying to debate on how to confront them, but everything I came up with made me sound like a jerk. I'm not good at confronting people. And when it comes down to it, it really sucks.
I start on some shading, really scribbling now. I'll show them.
Pfft. Like I ever show off my really good drawings. My favorites I tend to keep to myself. I have this weird thing where if I show someone something that I'm really proud of, I feel like I'm being a total jerk and boasting that I'm better, which isn't what I'm trying to do, but I still feel that way anyway. I also know how it feels to be upstaged. Big time.
I finish my drawing. I look at it, staring at my work. It's a face. Like that's any surprise. Faces are all I'm good at, anyway. I think it's pretty good -- I got the hair down well, the way it's blowing in the imaginary wind. I like to experiment with hair, because it's so unpredictable. But the nose -- there's something off about the nose, as usual. Feh. Another one for the archives.
I throw my sketchbook on the floor, and it rests comfortably among my randomly tossed clothes. I should really do some cleaning. Urgh. My mind feels so trapped. I wish I could do some writing, but the wrong juices are flowing; all I can think about is myself at the moment. But I promised something to be up two weeks ago!
I open up my laptop, start some different music -- music I like to write to. I think hard. I need to start writing something, or else I think I'm going to explode. Drawing isn't working right now, it's not running in the right groove. I take a deep breath, think some more.
What if I started a diary segment? Dang, that would be so relaxing, actually. I haven't kept a diary in ages, and to be honest, it'll probably really help, even just to write about normal everyday frustrations like overprotective artists.
I click the New Post button, start typing. "I sit in my room, on my bed..."
((This so relaxing. I can't even begin to describe how much I like this idea. I'm going to start doing this a lot, if you don't mind. Of course, that doesn't mean that The Super will stop, not at all. It just means that there's going to be more content as a whole, actually.
I think "Diary" is sort of a lame name, though. I don't know what to call it, and no, "journal" is not an acceptable alternative at this point. Don't worry, I'll think up something.
I also don't know when this will be actually published. My laptop totally wigged out with the internet earlier, and this post got lost in the tubey tubes. And I know there's going to be a whole lot of lag posting this... basically, whenever this finally gets posted is okay. Just, I'm mad about how glitchy my computer and Google are, and it's just--URGH! Sorry.
See you on the flip side.
~PolarFarina))
