I feel like such poo. I am already in bed. That kind of thing makes me scared that I am actually sick. I cannot get actually sick. I have lots and lots to do tomorrow, but most importantly dazzle some printing place dude and charm him into giving me a job. Job interviews excite me, but this one- I don't know. I like knowing what is expected of me and the job title was extremely vague. I like knowing things I've realized. I hate the discomfort of not knowing. This is why I insist on watching movies I've already seen ten times and listening to the same music I listened to in middle school. I love to know what happens and it brings me joy when everything happens just as I plan on it. Damn I am getting the chills all over the place. I watch movies and television with predictable plots knowing that I will be comforted with the exact storyline of the last eight hundred rom-coms. I know I am the reason why bad movies are made. I also don't give a fuck and I know that I am a scared little girl afraid of the unknown and that's what bothers me.
So I'm going to this interview with my scared thoughts, but I force myself to do it so I can buy This Dress. The job pays ten dollars an hour which is pretty godly to my eight twenty five. I'm hoping my lack of photoshop/illustrator skills can be made up for with a flash of thigh (as murder was justified by it in Chicago). Speaking of which to the tutorials i go!
I am such a slave to beauty products. Feeling beautiful is possibly one of the most wonderful things in my world. My confidence depends on feeling beautiful (most of the time). So I love diving into the makeup section of insert your favourite drug store here. I look at the products and I see my potential beauty: that shade of pink on my lips, that cool color of nail polish on my nails, that sparkly eyeshadow on my eyelids. All these little adjustments add up. They make me think I'm a goddamn movie star, even if it is drugstore makeup.
I am exactly what the makeup companies want. I am the girl who looks at Jessica Biel wearing JustBitten Lipstain and I want to look like her. I am immediately intrigued by the design and angle of packaging and advertisements. And it's just one of those things that fall under the category of things that are bad that I do that I have apathetic feelings towards. I mean yes, it seems very shallow that my confidence is based on the way I look and not my intelligence or other abilities. And yes, it seems shallow that I am easily persuaded by beautiful things.
But beauty is fascinating. The idea of beauty is so powerful. That there are people who are so beautiful that you're immediately drawn to without any logical reasons. That there are people you are so inclined to look at for a long period of time just for recreation. I spent some of my day looking at beautiful women on Google images with my pal Luc. We spent maybe fifteen minutes appreciating the way these people merely looked. We actually did that for fun.
I've been finding myself to be narcissistic lately. It's really strange. I used to hate myself a lot. like a lot. and that part is totally still there. But I'm just like talking a lot lately like I like the sound of my voice, and revealing shit that people totally don't care about. Then I reflect back on it like right now and I'm just like who the fuck do I think I am?
I think reconnecting with my art really boosted my confidence and I felt like I was good for something again. My art picked me off the ground and pumped my stomach of the pills I took to kill myself. And now I think I'm the shit? What kind of turn around is that? I'm wondering If I still hate myself a lot. like a lot. and this is my coping. I'm worried it isn't because this shit is even fooling me. I don't want to interrupt people as their talking to say something only relevant to me. I am a great listener- I just don't think I've been as skillful as I can be. Been a little careless. I'm tired of being a bad person.
I live in a basement. That always sounds worse than it is- my room is located in the basement. Better. However just like any disgusting basement you know it's humid and damp in the summer and the bugs just fuckin' love it here. I mostly deal with the silver fish. Yeah those creepy pieces of shit that couldn't move faster. I'd move that quickly too if I had over fifty legs. Anyhow, those are my roommates and you might be thinking to yourself, "That is horrendous, how do you live like that?" Well the silver fish are absolutely terrifying, but they tend to stay put on my walls. I rarely see them on the floor or on my furniture. Which believe it or not kind of makes that okay. This does not mean me and the silver fish have not had our rendezvous in my bed. And no, I am not okay with it. But there's something about the silver fish that I've made peace with. I don't jump to killing them in fact I hardly jump at all anymore when I see them. Maybe I've made my mind that knowing they eat the other bugs that they're on my side put me at ease. The other side of that is there are so many silver fish in my room that their diet of other bugs must be good and plenty. Remaining at unease.
This rant of bugs in my room was not at random. Today was 88 degrees or something near that. I imagine like zombies from the grave the bugs arose from the winter and they want to take over my room. There was a bee in this basement and then down to thick of it there was a fly I described as nickel sized complete with hyperbole flying around my room.
The beginning of the fly was me sitting in bed minding my own business when this fly, this thick, fat, slow moving, buzzing fly flew right in front of my face. I let it go until its incessant buzzing needed punishment. It flew in my closet so I shut the door. I figured it could die in there- I just won't open the door for days. I heard the buzzing again. That snake must have gone underneath the door, what kind of fly is this?! It was indeed a mother fucker. I called up Kevin and he tried to get me to forget about the fly. He said, "Don't let the fly control your life." Which could have been potentially good advice if he understood that I cannot co-exist with this bumbly fucker of a fly. When I told him to support me in killing the mother fucker he told me to use some sort of spray. So with hairspray in one hand and the October issue of SPIN in the other I was at war. I really want to address that this fly was really a mother fucker. I knocked the sucker out with a magazine and I couldn't find the body. I would lose sight of the fly and I have awful directional hearing to follow its buzz. So there was battle time and then the fly retreated hiding somewhere leaving me to wait for its buzz behind my ear. I eventually had to lure this fly with lights and then after at least a half an hour of battle this fly was finally conquered. I sprayed his fucking face with my hair product and he went down. To which I continued to spray. I knew I had him. I finally understood why people are stabbed over ten times. I must have slammed the magazine on the floor with my primitive might around six to seven times while grunting and laughing.
