8:38 a.m. x 2010-01-18
currently listening to: "marry me" by st. vincent
i've been feeling exceptionally bad about myself for the past couple of days. i got wasted all weekend, which was unrelated. both times, to a certain extent, involved gretchen, particularly saturday night. we had sake, gin and tonics and disaronno-dr. peppers. i feel like i did shots of something else. i was surprised to find that, drunk, i found the funniest part of "twilight" to be jacob (it could have been anything).
i did not get a hangover, nor did my behavior impede upon me getting my work done over the weekend. i didn't get more done because i felt like hell, which was the impetus for the antics, not the result. i have managed to stay away from visual art ever since graduating high school (essentially, except for return trips to the art show, which are their own genre of acid flashbacks), and last week, mary had me join her at a gallery opening (she paints, i came to take pictures of people reacting with awe to her work). it got into me like a fucking virus. i have never felt so much regret. i used to do that and i don't do it anymore, and if i had done it, i would really be successful at it - drawing, painting, sculpting, etc.
there is also the insistant pang of discouragement over never having mastered photography even to the extent of correctly operating a film camera. i had it figured that by now i would have. photography is the only class i ever failed that shocked me (algebra II and astronomy were not a surprise). the extent to which i am affected by thinking about all this staggers me. it's never really bothered me before.
if anybody should ask i'm going to a seminar
pieces of the moon
sensitive heart, you're doomed from the start