“Anhedonia”. Not really, it just now, at this moment at 4:31 a.m. EST, popped in my head. No, A is for a different thing. Well, actually, anhedonia is also relevant. Quite. But that’s not what this is about.
Today is…Saturday, now. August 20, 2022. Today is the very, very last day of August 20, 2022. I have nothing to show for it. I’m not thinking about kicking off, just so everyone knows. I mean, yeah, sure I do, everyday, but I mean not taking myself out. That’s what I mean. None of that right now. I’m just thinking. You know what? I would actually like to make it to August 20, 2042 and see what’s up with that time period. I’m down for this. New goal.
Ugh, goals. It reminds me of that thing in interviews: “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” I fucking hated that question because I didn’t see myself, period. It reminds me of my senior year in high school. For some godawful reason, they decided the students had to give a panel of teachers (I think there were three) a presentation of what they planned to do upon graduation. The catch? The presentation had to include which college the student intended to go to. I had no intentions of going to college. I know I was *supposed* to. It was drilled in by teachers and the guidance counselor. I knew I wasn’t, though. School was so hard for me. I struggled so much in school. So much. I barely graduated. No joke. I did really well in art class (except for the year where a teacher came in with a background in commercial arts and….I got kicked out a lot), so that was fine. I did well in Speech and Creative Writing, for the most part (read: I passed with a grade in the high 70s). The “speech” part I failed miserably at and couldn’t do, but the “creative writing” part was fine. Everything else, though? No.
Getting back to the presentation that was mandatory: I said “I’m going to go to X college for [insert art shit here] and do that”. I illustrated, literally, my plans. I figured if teachers from my other classes, like government, social studies, history, english, etc… would accept artwork I made relevant to the class for extra credit so I could at least pass, then fuck it, I’ll do the same for this gig. I only remember one teacher being on this panel o’ three and it was Mrs. Kirby. Her face was lit up the whole time. She was delighted. I was allowed to graduate.
I didn’t go to X college and study [insert art shit here]. Instead, I worked and did art and then went fucking teddy bonkers. Full blown teddy bonkers. Goodbye 2004, hello 2022.
Here I am. Why is any of this important? I’m not totally sure. There is relevance somewhere, I know it, I feel it, but I’m not sure how to relay it. Next month I’m going to be putting my artwork on display, in public view. Local public view. Raleigh, yo. I haven’t done that since my early twenties when I was in Erie. Yo. Maybe that’s the relevance? Maybe that’s what has stirred up all of this shit? Idk.