I’ve taken two lorazepam and I feel better about things, but I’m still anxious. Maybe I should actually be anxious. I have this large art project, and when my mother called from Mexico on vacation she said, “You’re going to work on it first thing right? Right away right?” At the time I said, “Yes. Yes I will.” Well, no surprise or shock, I didn’t exactly do that. I got distracted and hung up on programming (though I now have centralized login with originalpursuitssoc.com) and then realize how much time had passed. Then I had to go to an opera, and we hung out quite a bit on Sunday (I went FURSUITING!)
So, now I’m staring at four large taped together drawing sheets trying to determine what I’m going to do. I actually… didn’t go to class today. Which actually didn’t help my anxiety at all! I was freaked out because I didn’t go to class. I can’t win.
The idea of the piece was inspired by our neighbor across the hall moving in. I’ve moved around a lot in my life. In two years alone, in the past, I moved four times. The thing about moving, particularly with my moving, is I was always moving for a sad reason. I kept moving to try to be better and lead a better more functional life. Every move brings with it a new hope, a new outlook, a new emotion. Then you have to face the reality of your life that hasn’t left you, but you get to do so from a different base. Hopefully with different resolve, environment, and maybe even friends.
But sometimes it’s not enough, and you end up laying naked on the couch 18 hours a day, barely able to take dysfunctional care of yourself. Sometimes these are the things that I feel sad about. These are things I remember and they make me sad. Not the depression part, but the moving in, the reality, and the let down. I have a really hard time handling other people’s false hopes, I barely process my own. I’m used to things by my hand not turning out the way they should that there’s a somewhat nostalgic malaise over my entire memories.
However, with this apartment things have been a little different. I have actually been able to vacuum the apartment more than twice. I vacuum it at least every week. I can actually prepare food in a comfortable kitchen, and enjoy computer work, movies, shows, or games on my couch with a pretty good sized TV (probably a little small by today’s standards). Mom came to visit me when Maus completed his Graduate Studies and it was nice. She didn’t have to fix anything.
Almost every time Mom had to go somewhere where I lived, she had to fix it. When she came with Hurricane and we were living with Ksaru it was really bad. Hurricane scooped up and cleaned stuff while Ksaru just about keeled over from anxiety. I just wallowed in my mother’s disappointment, following her around feeling bad. And of course, there was the instance of the paper cup being in the vacuum tube.
When we lived in Lafayette, in Hurricane’s townhome, we didn’t really use the upstairs a whole lot. There was a giant pile of all the amazon boxes Maus would get when he shopped for cheap used stuff online. It was big. Hurricane wanted us to find roommates, but we were also not very good at that. We’d be better now, I think. I think we could do it. Needless to say, when Hurricane and Hurricane’s dad came, I was in Fort Collins with my former friend Boomerjinks tending to his bullshit. It was Maus all there alone with the Hurricane blowing through the entire house in full crank. We ended up talking on the phone and we both agreed that if we didn’t want this to get in the way of our familial relationship, that we should just move. So we did. That incident is also why we call her hurricane.
So yeah, I lost where I was living while I was tending to Boomerjinks and didn’t even tell him. I didn’t want to upset him more than he already was, but he kinda kept keeping me there until eventually I had to tell him, “Kevin, I have an adult male at home that I have to do certain things to take care of him.” He was a little surprised, but I knew I had to get home and start getting ready to move. Later he realized I lost my apartment during that time and he was like, “Why didn’t you tell me?” And I went, “Well, you were suicidal, why would you need to know?”
So I moved to Arvada in a dinky little studio apartment. It had a washer and dryer funny enough, and a bathroom and closet. We didn’t have a mattress then, or a car. So we ate from the seven-eleven down the street (through our kind of scary apartment tunnel), where I actually saw a working Delorean. And we’d sleep on a double-folded over foam mattress. I would wake up and sit in the corner, playing video games on the TV that was at the foot of our ‘bed’. Things were kinda tough back then, but at the same time they were kind of innocent of disappointment. I remember back to times like that and feel enormously bitter sweet. Things sucked, but some things were good, and I always just kind of hung in there. I didn’t know some of the disappointments and nuances of being in an adult body with a mature brain, and that was better in some ways, but not as good in others.
Even at that time I was trying to make money as a freelance (web) programmer, but I wasn’t finding very much success. One of my first clients were bigoted racist unethical assholes. That was a comforting situation, fortunately we broke the contract and they didn’t take any action because, honestly… we had nothing to take. No car, two old computers and a TV.
So, this art project is about moving. Every time I moved I hoped to do something new, and almost every time it turned into some ugly suffering construction. And there I was, facing reality over and over again. Facing that which is inside me, the darkness, the twistedness, the disturbance, and finding past that the child, the comfort, the embrace I wish could last forever. But like moving, like growing, nothing can last forever, and someday, when I die, it will die with me and be gone. It will finally be gone.