Caution: The Fourth Wave is Filled with Silicone

I can’t seem to form and maintain a habit of writing on this thing. Mostly because I don’t really have much of anything to say anymore. I’m becoming so misanthropic and surmounted with disdain for humanity that everything I say is loaded with negativity and anger. Someday soon, I’ll reach an age where I don’t give a shit if what I have to say pisses you off. I’m just not there yet.

So, in an effort to remain active in my blogging, I’ll give you, dear reader, an update on what I’ve been up to and how that makes me feel. Here goes somethin’…

Work

Sucks. But at least I have a job. 

I keep toying with the idea of running my own business. Frankly, I’m sick of busting my ass for no pay FOR SOMEONE ELSE. If I have to work like this and not make what I’m worth, I may as well be my own boss. So I’ve got it narrowed down to two things: Butcher/Cheesemaker, and Art Gallery Owner. I’m trying to figure out if there’s a way to do both. In the same building. In the same storefront. Is that weird? I like meat. I like cheese. I like art. I’d like to do all of those things well and package them in a cute shop. 

Social Clan

My sister, nephew, mom, and dad all left me here in the cold and rain to visit family in San Diego. I’m jealous as fuck. Someday I hope to make enough money to afford to join them. Today is not that day.

In the meantime, my husband and I are home watching my folks’ doggy. Which means we’re constantly trying to not step on or trip over this 10-pound high-strung pile of curly fur. But at least he’s cute and snuggly.

Art

Finishing round one of the Carnival Folks. I’m sick of them, frankly, but I’ve got two more to go. First layer of paint is on the paper, and they’re just staring me down , daring me to go further. And my lazy ass is gluing itself to my recliner, because goddammit, that Joyce Carol Oates memoir ain’t gonna finish reading itself. I think I need a scrip for Ritalin, for reals. My focus is garbage these days.

So far, though, the folks include Siamese twins, a jolly bearded lady, a human flipper man, a half-man/half-woman, a two-faced woman, a four-legged woman, and a cloven-hoofed man. So that’s seven pieces. There was a tattooed man in there, too, but I threw him away because he really sucked.

Additionally, I just purchased two new paint additives that do some nifty things, and I want to give them a shot. However, they were pretty pricey, so half of me is too nervous to just try them out willy-nilly on a pointless expedition that won’t become a real project. Pretty certain that’s a nutty way to look at it, I know, but I’m poor. Poor people get pretty conservative with their beloved belongings.

Sometimes I don’t even know why I’m doing any of what I’m doing. Nobody really sees my art. I’m not trying to sell it. Even when I do try to sell it, nobody buys it. I don’t try to show it in galleries, because fuck people. I don’t care what they think about it, really. I’m not trying to really SAY anything with most of it, and even if I was, I’m fairly certain most people take it all the wrong way. But I do it, I guess, because I feel like I have to, or I’ll be a horrible bitch from not doing it.

That being said, though, I am working on a few political posters that will definitely be saying something. So maybe once I really dive into those I’ll feel more driven to complete projects. Who knows?

Other Miscellany

 Anyone else really hoping the Mayans’ prediction about 2012 comes true? I know I sure am. 

(Maybe I should add an antidepressant to that Ritalin prescription I’m seeking.)

*Fart noise*