Le Art Boxians, who else has this horrible problem I am facing: I am totally disorganized, and I have no idea how to fix it.
Oh, I have to blame the brain again on this one, folks. See, when I am in a high panic state, my artwork is meticulously cataloged and arranged, all my supplies are exactly in their places, and I have my closet arranged in color order.
When I am NOT plagued by any mental stimuli to speak of, I am a raging disaster.
Right now, if you tried to find me sitting in my bedroom typing this blog post, you would not find me.
So why is this? OCD out of control? Could it be that the doctors were right and I, in fact, AM bipolar? Why the militant organization when I am high strung and my lackadaisical organization when I have some metal downtime? Is it a matter of focus? Hell, I have no idea. All I can tell you is that NOT being organized, NOT having every photo burned on a disc, labelled, and put away with an index print gives me the anxiety tingles, yet I don’t rectify the problem because I am too busy being laid back. I wonder how long THAT will last. *eye roll*
Anyway, I have to be better. I have been going through old work (again. And again *eye roll*) and tweaking some edits, making new things, making old things prettier, revisiting old thinks, and thinking new thinks, and my brain is all aflutter with activity once again. I am entering the cycle of too much stimulation again, which always goes one of two ways, I either ROCK IT and get tons of creative work done, or I get anxious and am completely debilitated by the panic that comes with too many thinks, and then I become depressed because I am this way and the cycle continues around again. I hate that my happy days are so few compared to the anxiety days and the depressed days. That sucks. But still, I need to be better. I haven’t caught up to myself from the last cycle of depression.
Some friends and I went to the haunted Mansfield Reformatory here in home base OH-IO and I joked that I was going to bring a ghost home with me and become possessed. Not two days after our trip, and I find myself staring down the barrel of another panic cycle. FANTASTIC! Maybe I DID bring home a ghost.
Anyway, I have to get ready for work in about two minutes … yes. Third shift. Another bane of my existence. I love the people I work with, I love the work, I hate what the shift is doing to my body and my mind. I feel like all I do is work and sleep the days away. Today, I washed and coated some screens, so I can shoot and pull a few tees tomorrow, which will take up my entire day and I will end up sleepy at work again. Sigh. All I know how to do is complain, apparently.
I wish … wait. I forgot to announce the plot twist we are about to take here.
I wish the 18 year old me had thought I would make it to this age. When I was 18 and plagued with anxiety and depression, I used to say all the time that I would never make it to 25 years old. Well, I did. I surpassed it. 25 year old me said I would never make it to 30. Hell, I almost didn’t. But I did. I have spent my entire life not planning for a future because I never suspected I would have one, and now I wish I had done a lot of things differently. How much happier would I be right now if I had planned for a future in art and had REALLY practiced my ass off? I would have had gallery shows already. I would have been published in more than just a few websites and that one time in Free Times when they didn’t even credit my work. I would have gone to school. Oh, school. I wish I had done that.
Well, if for no other reason, this blog post has served to remind me of why I fear death so much. I certainly have NOT fulfilled the goals I have. I feel like I was born an adult, with limited time to do the things I wanted because I started later than every one else. That’s what happens when you don’t think you will live past mid twenties. I can’t even remember when exactly I started thinking that way. Hell, that’s pretty sad. Most kids grow up thinking they have all the time in the world, I grew up thinking “what’s the use?”
Time to make some changes.
How does it go? My future’s so bright I gotta wear shades.