Writer's Block.

So last week my journalism class was assigned to cover the Prop 8 march down Market St. I have pages and pages of scribbled notes I could use but I can't right now. I am exhausted from the first later night in a while, but too much coffee to go to sleep. Also I think it's because I know someone will be home soon to wake me up anyway, so what's the point? It's already 8 o'clock and if I want to get a good rest tonight to wake up at 7am I should pass out by 10 or something. Which means I should get to writing. But I can't, 'cause I'm tired.

I got a D on my anthropology midterm, the first one. At least it's not an F.... So I decided to be a good student and go to the Greenhouse in West Portal to read the new chapter. It was like fifty textbook pages and I stopped after about ten. Then I started writing a bit, and then a someone started texting me and I got all giddy. Is giddy even the right word? Do I even know what I'm doing right now? I feel that I have to clear the air between her and I before things get complicated - if they decide to do so. I think it'll be okay, I guess having sex was the wall we needed to break in order to be fucking calm around each other - in my case at least. I drew this cool picture that symbolizes our... "coming together." I quite like it.

I bought some canvases at the art supply store 'cause they were on sale. I'll be starting a collage on Thursday which I'm looking forward to. It's going to be a black and white city scape background from a picture I took up here two or three summers ago, when I came up with my last boyfriend and the woman I'm still in love with and her girlfriend to see this band called Music for Animals who I'm still in love with and turn everybody on to (ya like how I totally took credit for that, gag me). Anyway, the picture is at 18th and Castro. I'm going to add some little Huckleberry Finn-esque characters in magenta blue and white and black in the left corner, similar colored birds in the sky and I need one more thing, but I can't decide what. Something colorful, abstract, different from the characters and the blck and white, yet something easy for me to paint. I've come to the conclusion that I am not a painter, it's rather difficult to have patience for attention to detail with fucking paint. I like to sketch and draw however, so I bought some charcoal pencils. It's just discouraging to try art and then seeing how easy it is for everyone else and their shit is so much better than yours. Same with writing, and drug dealing, and making friends, and life... why don't we all just shoot ourselves, quit our jobs, drop out of school, and live freely.... there's no such thing.

I finished Slaughterhouse-Five today, whoopeee for me! That means I'm on my next book called Choke by Chuck Palahnuik. His writing is conversational and makes for fast and easy reading, which makes me feel better about myself 'cause I can finish it faster and move on to the next one. I'm glad I've been reading lately, and painting, and going for it. "It" being it all. Experimentation and the like.

My mother is coming up Thursday and staying with me for the weekend. I'm going to try my hardest to resist the Billy Pilgrim in me and love her for being here with me. I feel so sorry for the way I make her feel, 'cause all I want is her. I have a gaping hoel in my heart for her, it's a severe love-hate thing for me that I don't think anyone gets. She might get it because her mother was similar to herself... I feel that I have lots of mending to do. I feel I have lots of essplainin' to do! I feel I have a lot to owe and at the same time, I feel that I deserve more. Always, deserving.

I'm excited to add some SHF and Bell Jar quotations to my collage. It better turn out rad or I'm going to kill myself.
Sometimes I can't tell when I'm kidding. I want to see and listen to Band of Horses, and I want to see Fleet Foxes, and I want to tell Cesar about summer, and I want to tell Brittany about Liz, and I want to tell Carolyn about her, and I want to punch and slap my family members for causing me agonizing pain and I want to slice myself for being a bitch my whole life and I want to castrate the poor victim of my next love.