The Boy is back in Ashland, and I’m having a really hard time adjusting. I’m not going to wax poetic about it; because what is there to talk about, other than I’m having a hard time adjusting and my own personal demons are making it worse for me? I think that explains all that needs to be said.
I’ve started drawing and writing again. I’m hoping that I’ll have enough of a body of work that I can actually take both somewhere. As in, actually putting my sketches onto canvas/printmaking paper, and submitting my short fiction/non-fiction to some magazines and hope for the best. As far as submitting to magazines: I’m not going to care about rejection, because my writing has been, and always will be, for my own fantasy fulfillment and mental sorting only. That, and my life’s ambition isn’t about being an accomplished writer. If it happens, it happens. I just miss being lingual.
I still need to work out a plan for taking the GRE and getting into graduate school. It’s been pretty distant, but as of late, realizing I can no longer live here under these circumstances, I need to light a fire under my own ass otherwise, I’m seriously going to pull a Lizzie Borden up in this bitch. Shit, I’ve got the spinster part down!
Please excuse my bitterness, I didn’t mean to let it slip.
Other than that, I’m enjoying the frame shop, I’m hording as many hours as I possibly can.
- To get out of the house and,
- I need the money.
Life is boring other than that. Seriously.