Probably not my greatest moment.

Ever wonder you spend so much time browsing the internet and watching videos on youtube of people reviewing things?

I do. I think I've watched at least 100 videos of girls talking about make up, products, colors they like, things they like and I've wondered if I'd like having those things too. Would I truly enjoy being "fabulous" and vlogging my life away? What's the difference if I'm typing it out.

Honestly I think it just feels like they're having a conversation with me. I get to see things and "have" things without actually having them. I can imagine make up packing clanck around in a make up bag. I love that sound - I love the sound of moving lipstick containers over each other, or the closing of a compact. I know though that I don't wear make up much if at all and I know that I shouldn't spend money on it so .. I don't. I like to enjoy it by proxy because for some reason when I buy it for myself it loses all it's magic. Why is that?

It's pathetic really. I need to enjoy as much of my life as I can but it's always limited to moments.
All the wise people telling you - don't worry don't sweat it but in turn the other wise people teaching you tell you that you should be worried and you should care a lot. In the end it's all about balance of course but how do you tip the scale when you've been stuck on one end too long?

Being a kid was so much easier and apparently I'm getting old. All them youtube hotties are 22. fml.

Oh yea and about my independent study. That's just such a self esteem booster I mean really, way to find out the author of the book your reading was part of a conference in your shit hole of a country. All the artists are men so of course I'm sure if I get there I'll be patronized. After all aside from being the possession of my father legally I am also the possession of my country.

Coming Clean

After watching this video I got to thinking back of a day when I was a kid, and my cousin had gotten 2 plastic keys that you could open like jewelry boxes. I wanted those so bad - usually he wasn't up for sharing but that day he was. I was so jealous that his mother got him any toy he wanted. I would stay over at my grandparents house for months and he and his family lived there too.
We went on to play with the keys and we were spinning around so I took this as an opportunity to lash out and have the key hit him in the face on "accident". I then ran off and hid in a closet because I knew what I did. I hurt someone because they had something I wanted.

Karma has a funny way of dishing that back out at you. My teenage years were extra special. I'm not going to go into detail out of respect for the person Karma chose as their messenger.

I'm not perfect, no one is, no matter how beautifully rendered or realistically painted their work is. Or how happy they appear in their Facebook pictures, Instagram, or tweets. I am - truly envious of those seemingly joyous moments. I am the green monster and I have been for months. I've been having a hard time appreciating what I can do.

Grades in school have taken over my mind as a form of judging where I belong. I know it's not good, but I barely talk to people in general. It's hard when you don't want to be the person who is about to have a mental breakdown in Yoga class. Being sent home because you started bawling in front of your teacher because well  let's face it, you're lonely no matter where you go. Your family has a very censored view of you and you can't just BE with anyone. All you seem to be getting are B's therefore you're just a B grade egg and no one wants those right? RIGHT?
to quote American dad -

Klaus: It's high school, Steve. It doesn't matter

Steve: You said that about middle school. When's it start to matter?

Klaus and Stan: Never.

 I couldn't find the cut scene of this but just in case you're curious it's from the episode:
The Adventures of Twill Ongenbone and His Boy Jabari

I'm jealous of your energy imaginary happy people.
I'm jealous of your joy despite what grade you get.
I'm jealous of your confidence in class.
I'm jealous of your leg muscles and how your knee doesn't kill you when you try to do a lunge.
I'm jealous of your eczema free hair and pearly teeth.
I'm jealous of how well you capture the human form.
I'm jealous how everything looks good on you and somehow you always seem to match your clothes and look oh so rustic chic.
I'm jealous you have your freedom on paper, in a constitution where no one owns you legally.
I'm jealous that you are so mobile and independent.
I'm jealous that you have more than one person to talk to and hang with and last but not least,
I'm jealous you can eat cheese and that it doesn't fuck with you.

Being

After a week of being sick and a good portion of that time not knowing I was sick, I feel like I'm coming to a point of anger - realization - frustration - exhaustion.
A certain quote comes to mind from a book I am reading for my yoga class "Human being vs. Human doing".

Being... I haven't been anything but stressed. I know this because my eczema which usually clears up while I'm here hasn't at all. Leaping from one thing to the next, one assignment to the next, one class to the next. I would love to get a "thank you for trying" from my teachers every once in a while. Perhaps I'm asking too much of others, to be mindful of me, when I can't even be mindful of myself.

Part of mindfulness is being alive in the moment, after all you're only alive right now. I'm beyond a novice when it comes to resisting being swept away by the tides of my emotions. All this stems from one thing and one thing alone:

My desire to achieve perfection by pleasing everyone.

When I look at that from a distance it's obviously folly. However, I jump at every opportunity to make sure someone, anyone, isn't unhappy with me. I got straight A's last semester - and you know what? It doesn't even matter because in my mind, there's a voice that tells me - that's not enough because it's just good, it's not GREAT. I know whom the voice belongs to. I know it's not mine but I can't seem to shut it out.

As a child, especially in elementary, I didn't even know what my grades were. I didn't care! I was busy being myself. Now suddenly I have something to prove. Why?

I need this like I need water.

"Here I am.. this is me.. there's no other place that I'd rather be..."

Sorry Bryan I'm gonna have to cut you off right there (Kanye Style) but I've been swimming in frustration and anxiety for a while now.

Some people say artists themselves have Love/Hate relationships with art. Well, I'm doing a lot of the HATING - right now.

Here's the ever so depressing thought process that goes through my mind:

Fuck Mondays man.. 2 classes of drawing from life back to back that total up to 8 hours of staring till your brain melts. Oh not to mention the moment I get to the awkwardly silent drawing class I get to know how wrong my hand eye co-ordination truly is. This makes me love being an artist, I mean it is the epitome of what I'm looking for in art - being wrong. Next class I get to spend more hours being wrong again!

Gouge my eyes out already. Seriously.

I love feeling like I have to be reminded that I'm not on par with people who have practiced religiously from their youth. They're miles away and I'm still here learning what perspective is for the billionth fucking time since 6th grade - but hey I'm still too dumb or blind or something to depict it with absolute perfection. Oh the memories of my teacher drawing over my work and saying "wrong wrong wrong" just don't seem to dissipate. I'm 27 years old and I'm feeling like a 12 year old.


NOT ENOUGH - let's move on further, to discuss why this is killing me. It's not about being wrong only,
no not at all, it's about being reminded that I'll never be "on par". Art has become very much representational lately. Not saying that's a bad thing.. that requires lots of skill, precision, you know the thing someone like me without an abundant amount of YOU GO GIRL juice doesn't have.

When I was in Middle School, I finally got to take Art as a class on it's own. I was so excited, it's about the only thing that kept me feeling like I don't know.. like I was good at something. To my surprise when I get there my teachers grading method was a matter of comparing who had skill and who didn't. Your effort grade was based on a number and your letter grade - well that was whether you had talent or not.
B - 1
That was my grade, no matter how much I enjoyed what I did. I would always hear him talk about the same girl over and over, and how wonderful she was. Katie this, Katie that. She was awesome, she really was, I wasn't debating that. I felt reprimanded for someone else having more skill. I was told he had to grade that way because there was no other way to grade Art.

I switched schools, things changed, I wasn't Katie yet, not until someone with more talent and skill graduated. I was still B - 1. Even after I got my A, I still feel, and will always feel like B - 1.
That's not good enough. It's not loved, it's not worthwhile, it passes, but it doesn't shine. It's just there to be dimmer than the brighter star.

I wasn't raised to think positively of all my situations. You either were the best or you were nothing. It's not healthy but every time I willingly walk to my demoralization on Mondays, I remind myself that this is my fault. I'm not squeezing enough hours in, I'm not obsessing as much as I should, i.e. every second I breathe or gasp. I was born second rate, always seen as second rate, it's only fair that no matter how hard I work on something I love, that it's still not good enough.

Stars don't stop shining because one imploded in on itself. They just don't give a fuck.

P.S. Someone give me a cat to hold.