i imagined myself successful.
i dont know what success means to me anymore. My life is nothing as expected, im sure we can all say that. In grade school they said I was a day dreamer.
I don’t day dream anymore.
i struggle spending money on myself becuase i see it as a waste.
i’m really into woven baskets these days.
I found the most beautiful 3 tiered basket- the best color scheme-antique, over pried, something i could cherish my whole life. a ‘lifer’-a beautiful object- but i wont have much time to appreciate it--i dont think the time i have left is worth a $250.
a waste, no? years ago, honestly..i would have not thought twice about buying it. because i was irresponsible with my money and lusted over beautiful things.
I feel lucky, i have been here for 12 months, since my GBM diagnosis, and have felt reativly well. survival is 9-12 months. and my treatment options are few at this point.
What is the point of havng a niiiicccee basket when i coud only enjoy it for most likely a short while, i cant take a basket with me...if i could bring a object..i would totally bring a basket. but i dont think they allow that.
or shoes
or …..whatever
ive started to not care- ive started to not care about me not caring. I do not worry that I no longer care.
im just sad now. but not visibly sad- not conciously sad.but a deep down black hole kind of sad- a type of sad we don’t tap into often.
I don’t consider myself successful.
people will say..yeah yeah yes yes you are. you are a herrrooooooo. no.
im not a hero.
im a fighter.
im here fighting to survive- survival of the fitest- because i want to be successful. I want to work hard, and enjoy it. I want to shine-
but i will lose this fight. im a bad sport. i dont like doing things im not great at- last time i checked- i havent been in a competitive atmosphere in a few.
so i wont be successful.
When we moved here to Venice, finally i felt more comfortable in my body. I started looking up while i walked. for the first time in months i met peoples gaze. it made me feel relevent i guess- that i could still be seen- that i literaly did not diisapear.
I could have been successful here. slightly i felt like myself.
When i was a young teen I began to “model” it started out as atteneding a “modeling” academy, I went 2 years ( my godmother won a voucher for a year free) then worked for the boss for another year. It was mostly learning manners, how to speak and respect people...how to cut your food! table manners! so important. I learned how to cross my legs in a laddddy like manner. shoulders back, chin down. my kneck is so damn long and my head is too heavy. she taught us how to walk. put makeup on….never to wear false nails. but i hated having my photo taken.
i still do, loathe having my photo taken--- but most likely it is the photograoher that sucks not your face. remember that.
So as i grew and entered high school I was lucky enough to sign with an agency.
I sucked so hard.
I hated the camera
and I was scared to death to speak to the people at the castings.
I did have some pretty cool photos taken, and just seeing-was good enough. I was not really upset when i did not get a job.
I was 1 inch too short, and 15lbs too heavy. i was probably 115, maybe 125…
my mom was so cool. After i had a casting call we would always find a cool neighborhood, go to eat, go shop vintage clothing stores.
but i wish i would have tried.
i wish i would have believed in myself. I just wanted to be a dirty punk rock kid. I wanted dreadlocks, i wanted to dye my hair crazy colors, wear bondage pants. I was a poser- i didnt really like punk music very much.
but my mama always let me, my dad always supported me.
i’m lucky. I feel like i had a great childhood. i was a BRAT.
Oh man, i flipped out so hard, so bad, so intensly.
my brother still calls me the “flipper”
but i feel very lucky.
WAs i successful at growing up?
does that even matter, no.
eveything ive done so far was leading up to my big bang successful life i imagined.
I guess my accomplishments still count- but they do not matter anymore.
the success ive had feels bitterweet. i could have done so much. im only 28- i always said the 30's were going to be my best years.
i truely think im a pretty cool person.and could have done some really cool things.
….insert all cool qualities….
I would expect that now i would be concerned with getting things done. using all the time i have left..to “accomplish” things.
nahhhhh
I want to look into the mirror and see who i am. that sounds so lame.
when i look at myself i feel like i dont see what others see. or hear what others hear. some sort of body dismorphia.
I would like to see myself…..like floating over my body….see myself from a different angle.
this is why i have thought about wanting a mirror on the ceiling above my death bed. i want to see myself dying- the process.
I want to still look, and try to see.and understand..what makes me special, or maybe not special...we all die.
Im guilty of looking for videos of people dying.
I want to know what to expect.
it makes me less scared, but makes me want a mirror even more. i also want a memorial service while i’m alive. what if people tell stories about me, and fuck up details?!?!!! joking
maybe i should be interviewed.
and interveiw others.
get things straight.
i stumbled upon this artist a while back… photos before and after death...
just.....makes me less scared...it seems peaceful.
please dont think i sit around all day contemplating death...i so don't, im mostly concerned about the waffles i will eat tomorrow.
I'm alive!! im doing well! i am wearing a treatment device that i cant possibly write about now. tomorrow.
There is always tomorrow, but not if your are dead. but if you are dead i doubt you will really care.
sorry i wrote like shit, i stepped in a pile of shit recently...a big load..in the middle of the sidewalk, wearing ballerina flats, mark helped me out-my prince. xo
