AS I’M READING man’s search for meaning which i stupidly recommended and now need to back up with a small blurb to support such a recommendation i begin to question my own purpose. most women who have children that i’ve encountered say it’s their children that they live for. i am childless so scratch that option. christians say jesus is their purpose, or mission. meaning and love, tension keeps one going according to frankl. being comfortable is a death wish. i am comfortable. i recall not that long ago being kicked out of my parent’s house for flipping out at my dad, and how everything felt strange, scary, beautiful all at once. maybe i’m too sensitive. glendora is a pretty, fattening suburb where you pay and drive around for everything. how did i end up here? where can i find balance? i miss santa cruz, my crazy ex-roommate (not really), maybe just the beginning days where he bought me flowers and proclaimed his “love” for me. i only like the onset of things, the initial initiation, the beginning. the middle is boring, and the end means its over, but it’s good because that means a new beginning is at work. i miss meditating in claremont. i need a hair cut. i was going to dye my hair red at the suggestion of my coworker but decided not to, that would be weird to follow his suggestion when i’m perfectly fine with natural colored hair. i had a purpose a vision, to finish school but that has been thrown out the window with this new job. maybe i should quit? maybe my life purpose is to have no purpose. and to just go with the flow. life is too crazy and complicated to understand, anyway. my problem is i get to caught up in the details or look to broadly and generalize everything or i completely crop out the scene. i keep looking back fondly on times in the past, but at the time i didn’t give a shit what was happening at that moment. i am always looking backwards. time slows down. our perception of time, is it in real time or are we always looking past, is there a time delay? this happened during my first time being high, time slowed down. or when i went crazy, the world was ending and i was part of a bigger mission. it’s odd viewing people’s perspective of you when you are going crazy. you can see who has compassion and who will despise you, or those simply unphased, or people who are straight up control freaks. i became the impetus of true character, a magnifying glass, a light. or maybe not.
“I”M NOT talking to you,” the don’t-fuck-with-me-or-i-will-deck-you-attitude student said to me, the lady had to have been in her 30s. my dear, you’re in college now, let’s fix up the attitude, i thought, but i kept my happy demeanor and let it brush off my shoulder. she later slid a book at me across the checkout counter “here you go,” with the same attitude. this library i now work for is nothing short of interest. everyone i work with is an extrovert, they have a lot to say, and i feel like i should be more talkative. i wonder how long i will last here. maybe silence is something i can offer, something needed since everyone just talks.
that was from day one or maybe two. i’m on day four of my new job and have no idea how long i will last. it is a good job, very secure with good benefits and all of that but i feel undeserving of it. it feels weird to have landed something stable after a long history of instability due to a divorce and being bipolar. all of my coworkers are nice people, the students, for the most part, are respectful and at that age where they are in their prime with wide eyed curiosity. working at this place makes me feel old and jaded, burned out, sad, tired. all of these are just thoughts, i know. i’m there to just work and make money, not daydream or reflect on how empty my life is.
that being said, if you’re reading this, pray that i last at this job, or think good thoughts. i feel nervous going to work everyday so far and i don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. my mind is filled with so much self doubt and negative self talk. its quite ridiculous considering how chilled and relaxed everyone is at work. don’t get me wrong, there is a lot to learn, and know the ins and outs of the library, i haven’t worked in a library in years, so it’s a refresher course. i can’t help but feel imposter syndrome, however, like i do not belong there, but i honestly can say that i feel that every where i go.
I THROW that phrase around a lot. it’s all chemicals. ernesto, fernando, francisco, rodrigo, burrito. what the hell. why am i attracting these random latino men. i hate artsy types, or worse wannabe artsy types. i hate cholo/gangster types. hipsters. any man that wears marvel t-shirts. i’ve pretty much summed up all of la so i am basically screwed. i don’t want to date an older man because they’re old, and in 10, 20 years they’ll be even older. i don’t know how i’ll fall in love again. i don’t think it is in the cards for me, at this rate. i really need to find a hobby and a group of friends at least. i’m allergic to cats so i can’t even become a crazy old cat lady if i wanted to. i could be a cool dog lady. i don’t know. i woke up this morning to an angry sister and a parking ticket. fuck glendora and the lazy ass officer who has nothing better to do than issue parking tickets for the one time i didn’t park on the drive way. i’m not paying it. my poor brain. the worst thing i can do is feel sorry for myself but really, i’ve put my brain through such nonsense. i didn’t used to have anxiety. i used to enjoy driving, i’d always drive to laguna beach, i’ve driven myself to santa cruz, i’ve driven myself across the country to missouri. now i can’t even drive to the post office without feeling anxious at a red light. why have i become this way? what is wrong with me. i used to romanticize the recluse, the weirdo, and aspired to become an obscure archivist/librarian, unknown to the world. fuck that. i don’t want to waste away in the dark somewhere, i mean i will eventually, but not while i am ALIVE. i did a psychoanalysis of my own drawings of a house, a tree and a person. i won’t go into too much detail but what stood out to me the most was that my reality is based in fantasy. fuck. i just want to be normal and happy. why is that so difficult to attain? my husband was relatively normal, yet i was a drama queen and made life difficult for both of us by thinking going away to a UC would resolve my boredom. how differently i would live my life if i could go back. they really do need to make time travel a thing already.
I gave my employer two weeks notice and it backfired. they cut me off. perhaps it is karma from all the jobs i just left without notice. now i have all this time on my hands before i start my new job (if i even have a a new job to start?) and i’m lost in thought. my lazy ass knows i should go to the gym but i don’t want to. i hate gyms. i’ll try to go on a hike tomorrow morning. i did develop a crush on one of the guys i’d often see at the gym. he’s probably compensating. jk. anyway. too much free time. i randomly started listening to the drums, a band this boy who liked me very much recommended a long time ago. he liked me a lot and i just used him. i feel bad about that. and karma has hit with that, he won’t even talk to me anymore. he was a sweet guy but really not my type. good sense of humor though, which seems to be hard to come by these days. i’m hitting 33 soon and i’m still nostalgic. i’ve always been this way.
I have so much debt. and it isn’t comforting to know that there are millions others who are in the same if not worse situation. debt is debt. my divorce didn’t help. being bipolar didn’t help. but my goal now, with the new job, is to focus on financial stability and taking care of my debt. i don’t have kids. i live rent free. i might as well make use of my situation. or, say eff it, that is part of life and move the hell out of my parents house. i really don’t know what i am doing with my life or how to navigate it. i read these numerology reports that said i am a born leader and should be an entrepreneur. i really just want to live a simple life. i don’t want to lead anyone anywhere. i made a line drawing today that just came out weird. my art, my writing is weird. i don’t think i am intelligent or creative enough to do these things yet i will continue doing them. some artists are worse or not that great and still they have their own studio and success. i don’t know what i want that is the problem. i think anyone can get what ever they want. if they don’t get it it’s because they don’t really want it. my problem is i am too dependent on people and circumstance, i need affirmations, reassurance.
HAVING so much time on my hands is making me think of march in 2018. meeting with that man in la and subsequently going crazy shortly after. like really, what the fuck. am i that love deprived i fall in love easily with some douchebag and then become a 51-50 the next day. if we ended up together talk about a start of romance. he really was just a douchebag trying to get laid. i liked him, nevertheless. but why did i go crazy. it was the anti-depressants which apparently induce manic episodes. stupidest experience ever, really. and embarrassing. i did feel a heightened sense of clarity the last day at the hospital, and the feeling of being trapped, locked in began setting in. how our environments shape our thinking. i need to get over all of this. and move on with my life. but i can’t deny what happened. it was scary and tripy and something i hope never to experience again. i remember that there was a sagittarius and a picses. i remember being very wide awake, still in mania, until 4 am. hardly getting sleep. i still wonder if any one besides my mom visited me while i was in ER. someone came close to me, i don’t know who it was, it could have been one of the staff nurses messing with me, it could have been G-d, it could have been no one. it shall remain a vague memory, that night of insanity.
I wrote an angry post the other night about how sick and tired i am of all of it, of life, and how i need jesus in my life. i was a dedicated christian a long time ago, very spiritual and always praying for people. i mostly abhor a lot of churches i’ve visited these days because they act like church is for comfort or entertainment, when it really should be focused on communing and having a relationship with G-d, encountering him, and living in his purpose in all aspects of comfort or discomfort. idk. i need to study the bible more and look into finding a good church to go to. i am in yet another transition in life between jobs and finding a new place to call home. something needs to be stable. i don’t know what it is, the weather or just people i have been surrounded by, but i feel so damn depressed. the man i’m in love with is a psychopath in santa cruz who doesn’t love anyone but himself, and my therapist is a new age chick who pulled guidance cards for me and it told me love was imminent in my life and marriage is soon but that just made me more depressed. LOL. been there, done that. i need inner peace. i was listening to sadghuru and he talked of people who have made a hell within themselves are in need of a heaven, but people who have heaven within themselves don’t care where the hell they are or go. i have the worst fucking menstrual cramps. hormonally imbalanced. my sisters are crazy. life is unpleasant enough, why should i add to it? how much more necessary it is to be pleasant. binaries. i tried driving to the college i will be working at last night and i couldn’t make it the whole way. i’ve had a panic attack on the freeway so i don’t go on it often and take the streets. but even the streets give me anxiety. the unfamiliarity of places, the aggressive drivers. i don’t understand the energy of needing to rush somewhere. or why aggressive drivers even bother me. that’s giving them power and i am drained of energy to give away. i want to learn to be able to flow with it. and not be overcome by it. it will be a slow but necessary process. i can’t let fear run and ruin my life.
FUCK YOU. jk. it’s all good. i DO need to go back to school. people probably aren’t passively aggresively liking anything. but for the record, my posts aren’t edited. i read through them once or twice and just hit the publish button. these are all first drafts, not well edited manuscripts, so yeah that is probably why i ended up dropping college and why my posts come out so half assed and not well written or clearly thought out. even my professors in college commented on how my papers read like fragments but they added that what i wrote was good, so at least there is something of substance in these writings. maybe studying chicanx art history, or just too much time away from school, has made me rebel against writing well-written long grammatically correct and correctly punctuated sentences. or i’ve read too much damn literature that i’ve given up. all the greats have composed anything worthwhile anyway, why follow rules and convention? but alas, as in art, one must know the rules in order to break them, and i barely got by on knowing the rules. learning latin also screwed me over as far as grammar is concerned. the latin langauge has no articles and word placement doesn’t matter, well it does in terms of emphasis, but not in meaning, as in english. aside from all of that nonsense. today sucked. i don’t care what fucking day it is. people were just straight up dicks today at work. to top it off i got rained on then dealt with more dicks and dumb asses on the road. it’s just water, people! what the hell is wrong with everyone when it rains? just complete and utter stupidity and lack of courtesy or on the flip side, complete and utter entitlement. ugh!!!! okay i’m done. nope i’m going to complain some more. blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. back to better writing. the only thing i took to heart from william strunk’s elements of style was to be concise, to the point. what good is it to drone on and waste people’s time? or at least one’s own time. this is all a moot point. that’s the problem with writing. it feels so set in stone. context definitely matters, but it feels limiting also. which is why i prefer poetry, or vague writing, that leaves the reader to interpreting as they wish, and leave an impression. regardless, writing has rules that one must follow, to some extent. perhaps it’s my lack of structure in life that i’ve been drawn to books and libraries. a place of refuge. art was the deviation from this, it’s a sanctified space but also a place to express, and anything goes as art isn’t so well defined yet there are rules and realities to overcome.
LAST night i dreamt i ate a delicate purple fruit that was fuzzy in texture and once eaten, my hands turned into pigments, first it was the color of the fruit, in which i thought i was having a violet beauregarde moment from willy wonka, turning into a blueberry, or in my case, a strange purple fruit. instead it stopped, i began controlling it to some extent, and my fingers turned into pigments, colors and i was able to paint on the wall using vivid colors that came out, but it soon overflowed, mixed up. then i was able to manifest a tray of pigments, of any colors i wanted, green, aqua, lavendar, pink, but these too, became over flowing and muddled. then i manifested ryan gosling (L.O.L.), he appeared through the door at the words of my mouth, but he was too short. so i then tried thinking of another version of him but he then turned into a zombie, then i thought well no, let’s try another version and he just got worse and worse and turned into a monster. i think the message here is overthinking, and to stay focused. that i don’t know what i want, that i over do things. i began drawing a tree and the ‘in progress’ version isn’t too bad, but then i keep going, never satisfied with line placements, thinking there could always be more and alas, it turned into a dark form that could have easily been drawn with three or four thoughtful strokes of a brush. the end product? the process? the medium? what counts, what matters? does any of this matter? i took a salt bath with essential oils to clear my aura of negative energies, the new moon was last night and tonight, and it is a moon of manifesting. now to pull from the dreams to reality. to paint, to manifest. here’s to wishing everyone a happy (and weird) new moon!
DON’T get me wrong. i love molly shannon. i think she is hilarious. but her portrayal of emily dickinson was definitely hers, just as the writer/director’s interpretation of emily was theirs. emily dickinson was used as a mouthpiece to propagate whatever they were trying to. i spaced out through most of the film, it was very boring except for the few moments where they quote dickinson’s poetry. i would have been better off spending my afternoon reading her works than watching someone who is trying to emphasize the fact that she was gay and not a recluse and yadda yadda. who cares? gay, straight, bi her poetry will live on regardless, and her relationships while important historically, are only one aspect to consider as with any person. i also don’t know what it is with me and lesbian films. i’m not gay nor opposed to those who are, maybe i’m latent. who knows. i love men. anyway, the acting was okay, and i happen to like brett gelman from netflix’s LOVE, so his scenes were interesting yet typical. yes women had limited rights, yes many male authors of the time may have been in fact women – we get it! we’re in a different time. women have rights now. what even are rights. i don’t know why i thought seeing this film was a good idea. i keep seeing bad movies. i should change the titles from half assed to terrible movie reviews on terrible movies. or something. rich white people. that’s all i could think watching this dumb movie on emily dickinson, oh woe is emily for having a reputation of being a recluse and being in love with a MAN! spare me. bitch lived in a comfortable house with servants and chose not to socialize and wrote amazing poetry. every artist struggles with shit. every person for that matter. this was just the director’s/writers attempt, whoever they are, to use someone who actually had depth for their own stupid “artistic” interpretation. it reminded me of the stupid movie “frida” on brilliant mexican painter frida kahlo. yes, she had women lovers, but why use that as a focal point? restrained reality versus stupid people these days who actually have the rights these artists fought for and what do they do? waste their time making terrible movies about them. stop making artists roll in their graves and put to shame and try making something worthwhile.
MIJA you just push the door open! the latino father i never had told me as i tried to get access to the mcdonald’s restroom. my dad is latino but he isn’t THAT latino, although he is from east la, him and my mom are odd exceptions of the population that resides there. or maybe they’re not. in any case, here i was in east los, preparing before going in to interview, i usually stop at a nearby starbucks or a coffee shop but there wasn’t one in sight, so mcdonalds was the next best thing. there’s definitely a vibe to this area, every place has one, but i can’t quite categorize where east los, or the place i interviewed at, falls. it’s predominately hispanic, which is strange to me even though i am hispanic, i am not cultured in my own background/heritage. i studied chicana/o art at uc santa cruz and i remember one of the students saying this was an outsider’s perspective. east la has a history and you can still feel it. the accents are a turn off. working there would be cool. there was a panel of six people which i was not expecting, but i think the interview went well. i wasn’t expecting to be interviewed either but i received the invitation out of nowhere and accepted. in any case, maybe life will direct me through to a new, yet familiar place. i’ve mostly resided in the suburbs of la, never at or near the heart of it, so it would be an interesting change, something new to experience. i ended up taking the train home, which was a bit long and arduous making my way back to the san gabriel valley, interesting to people watch, the characters that go on and off the train, stopping at different points along the way. i need a muse or drugs because even exposure to the graffiti, the king taco, the cluttered streets i’m unphased by it all. i did think of that guy i walked through chinatown with, he went around la taking photographs of street art. i think the medication i am on has contributed to this numb feeling and lack of enthusiasm. i used to be a passionate person, but i am not sure what happened, i can only speculate on the loss, or the change in the person i am becoming. my problem is i over think, i just need to do, i just need to push the door open.
A grey morning greets me at the window, whilst stones charged by the moon await sharing their properties with those who are open to them. i was reading evaluations i received while attending ucsc, the word “good” was a frequently used word, and “versatility” a compliment. writing isn’t my strong suit. copying seems to be. i copy people around me, their mannerisms, like a mirror. i’ve read about a thing called mirror neurons, that we all have them, but i mostly imitate, and unintentionally. it just happens. i wonder if it’s due to a lack in my own personality, or is it insecurity? i don’t know what it is. i sketched a tree on friday. drawings are mostly self portraits. i have not mastered realism nor the ability to detach from a drawing i’ve drawn. i’m so self critical. it’s no wonder a majority of my followers are self help oriented bloggers, which i don’t mind and will occasionally read an article. i’m stuck in this loop of self hatred, it’s getting old, but i feel like i am breaking free from it. priorities. values. all things i need to really meditate on and establish if i’m going to get anywhere in life. i wish i was back at work, focused on problems to solve i get paid in solving. it’s tiring but somewhat fun. maybe i should just work and move out of my parents house. i really don’t know what to do. i am caught in a capitalist system with little resources and income. yet, i have no problem with abundance. well i do, but it shows up in different ways. i have an abundance of problems, of books i want to read. i am attracting all of this. why? to feel needed? wanted? useful? who cares. i’ve put myself in this position for a reason and i need to put myself out of it. i’m in a constant state of want, as all people are, we are desiring beings. i feel gross and sad. i remember poverty, real poverty, when i was younger, and the strange sensations it made me feel. a dark emptiness. in retrospect i should be thankful and happy with what i have. that i am not poor as i have experienced before. or miserable and married. now i’m just miserable and single. ha. each has its pros and cons. this blog is mainly me complaining about the same thing. free writing therapy sessions and if that interests you, sweet, if it bothers you, well, do what you feel necessary to make it not bother you.