unlike grace, however, I didn't bother to read through my previous blogs. they're probably from years ago, freshman year possibly. but even then....they might not be that recent. that said, I'm not sure how relevant they are to show how far I've come in the past....well, I've come a long way it seems every year. the most dramatic years were probably 7th to 8th grade, high school to college, and most recently and I think most importantly, from last year to this year. huge huge change.
I still have so much growing up to do; it's really amazing to think about. I'm excited to see where I'll be this time next year, hopefully in a great place. I'm in a very good place now, but I can always hope that things will get even better.

Right now, I have a lot ahead of me. I'm living between my dorm and alec's house. I'm driving a car on it's last leg. my classes are pathetically boring, but I've suffered only a minor dip in my GPA (more Bs than As, I think. we'll know when I get my grades). I'm completely in love with alec, but am afraid to tell him. my social life is restricted to the weekends and even then, it is limited because I work. I miss my girls. we just can't seem to get our schedules to work so we can see each other. also, my internship at the Smithsonian should be a good experience and if not, it's still going on my resume.

This time next year, I will be settled into a beautiful apartment in Atlanta. I will not be driving back and forth to alabama. I will have a new car. my pets will finally be with me. my classes will be in my field of interest (since I overloaded so much, I now have a lot of freedom to take whatever I want) and hopefully my GPA will reflect my newfound interest in school. surely by this time next year, I will have told alec. and hopefully my fears will seem silly afterwards. I will be living with the girls and will be home on the weekends, so my social life should be back on track.
things will improve, surely. my internship at the Smithsonian will hopefully open a lot of doors for me so it will be interesting to see where that takes me next summer.

my greatest fear is that my effort this past year will not be reciprocated by alec and that we will become unbalanced in level of commitment to each other and our relationship. I hope that he will come see me and more importantly want to come see me as often as I have made an effort to see him.
I guess it seems shallow to have my biggest concern alec, but he's really important to me. school is so easy, it's all about effort and planning. work has never been much of an issue either. getting a job isn't hard and actually working isn't difficult in demands. those things are very simple for me. but when it comes to alec and maintaining my friendships, it's much more complicated and much more difficult for me. I have a very hard time telling people how important they are to me, and that may be one of the things that have broken my friendships in the past. it is easier, however, to show people how much you care about them when you live with them, hence why I'm not really worried about my friendship with the girls. but when the man you love is a state away, it just seems harder.

only two more years of school. we can make it.

hey HEY---new icon. sorry it's not more important. I should never be released from school before 4:30. I just can't manage all this extra time. I mean, I got home before it got dark! wow.

"oh, god, what if my art impacts no one? is it even worth trying?"

so I'm stuck. I've done everything from watching Jaws to bathing the cats to avoid making art today. it's like I can't remember my point. the purpose for my art has been lost somewhere. maybe it's with my faith. I am my own muse. or I should be at least. the bunny is my constant, but for some reason I can't just buckle down and work with it. poets have it easier, they have a set of letters to rearrange at will, a structure to follow, a skeleton to fill. I have the thin air to sculpt. and I don't know where to begin. often I regret choosing art. I can't tell if it's right for me anymore. I don't know if it's what I am supposed to be doing, my "path" so to speak. and only I can answer that. a poet once wrote: "questions are not meant to be answered, only to inspire." but all I have is questions. and honestly, I don't even know what I'm asking anymore. I don't think I know enough about the world to even generalize a question of myself. I know one subject, and one subject only: art history. my love, my passion, my solvent. it is the only thing I know anything about and yet I have done nothing with it. it's not laziness, I think it is the lack of courage. I'm not smart enough to make a step but I'm not dumb enough to risk taking it either. caught in the middle. perhaps this is the source of my unease, my inability to sit still, my blind fear of being left alone. and then this ties into my art. I assume that if I am submerged in people then I will be eternal. but I have affected no one, and I am merely a shadow in their lives. all my life, I've never been anywhere long enough to make an impact, too flighty to impress. so my life continues in it's cycles, and sadly I have yet to break them. my neediness for being needed has simply driven people away, furthering my cycle of being anxious. the need for security, that dependance on someone being there to comfort me and that love shared between friends is what makes life seem eternal, the bond that is eternal and therefore nonexistant. the bunny, the constant. I have, as I assume everyone has, the natural, brutal, and some could say childish instinctive choice of "fight or flight." I think few people have actually encountered this, or at least not acknowledged it to themselves or anyone else, the real decision. when everything around you disappears and there are two simple choices, fight or flight. I tend to panic, have a deer in headlights moment, before realizing the safest choice is to run. I feel I'm in that choice now. to fight against everything that makes me unhappy, or to run as I've done most my life. to move just as things get familier. but I've always been a blind fighter, running not on skill or wit or speed, but relying solely on will. I do have determination, but what is that without courage? what is that if I am still childishly dependant on some form or another. the bunny haunts me. a mental addiction with physical side effects. the bunny, the parent, the friend, the lover, when they are there the air is sweet and all seems managable, relaxed. like mornings in the mountains. but when they aren't there it's a hot summer day in NYC at rush hour. panic, suffocation, claustrophobia, blindness. this does, as my art has shown, stem from a classic parental decision: give the new born babe a bear to keep it company, to keep it settled, to keep it safe while in the crib, car, or arms of a person who did not give it life. as the child grows, the bear is seen tucked under the arm, or given to the outstretched hands of a crying babe. commonly refered to as a "security blanket." when the child reaches adolescence, the bear or blanket or what have you, has been discarded for social stability and another source of security must be found. music, drugs, certain people, a special safe-place to run to (one's bedroom, for example) when threatened, etc. food or pain even, has become a security blanket for some. I have also noticed that for many social groupings of ages 13-30, risk has become a major constant. what is socially elevated is something that puts the person and sometimes the person's surroundings at risk. consider how people praise speeding and racing on highways, riding bicycles off ramps into lakes, drinking as much as possible faster than anyone else, eating a pound of uncooked meat, etc. why is risking the only thing you have (your life, duh) suddenly so "cool." I do it myself, the thrill and theraputic powers of driving fast, hugging curves, feeling the power of a two ton piece of metal in the palm of your hands. i love it, I love driving, especially when I am upset or confused. risk is intoxicating and highly addictive. these dependancies will continue to develop and change on occasion throughout one's life, although by one's 30s or 40s, the person has become so dependant, the "blanket" will no longer change, it will remain a true constant. I have attempted to show this in art, my dependancies being my room, that bunny (not a day goes by that I don't regret losing it), my parents, and certain foods, certain routines even. I think my parents' constant absence over the past year has added to my uncertainties, my insecurities, and my ever growing unhappiness. the knowledge of being alone has haunted me daily since I discovered mortality. a constant series of questions leading to thoughts of my death. but the current question of the "now" remains: how can I convey this in my art. and when I do, what impact will my viewers experience and will this make me feel eternal? will that day of satisfaction and closure leave me a changed woman? and will I ever impress in people's minds as much as they have impressed their souls on mine? where to start? but then there is always that nagging question of "why" . . .

this is my first entry. I'm back in town. come see me or invite me out. that is all. love. alexa.