enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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Monday is definitely over.

Hey friends,

Feel much better this morning. Phew!

I make a big deal out of nothing, I know.

But I suppose that this is my diary and sometimes I need to vent.

This morning, too, I wrote in my morning pages about how sometimes I feel so frustrated that I don't have a cheering section (in real life, that is!). The last time that I remember being applauded for being myself and told to "do what makes you happy," was when my dad and I had a talk when I was twelve.

Sometimes I get so angry that I don't have that dad there to tell me to keep going and be unafraid. I obviously don't get that from my mom. And, frankly, I think I shouldn't underestimate the effect that her words have on me. So probably they impacted my mood yesterday.

It's tricky, that thing about unconditional support. You hear people talking about that parent or grandparent or aunt or uncle who supported them and encouraged them and that thereby helped them get to that Osc@r or whatever. Many of us don't have that. In fact, the most interesting part of this writing and thinking that I've been doing lately is REALIZING that most people have a vested interest in you staying the same. In my family, it's not a good idea to shake the status quo of a good job with a pension, preferably in the academic sector.

I was thinking this morning about my brothers though. My brothers have both basically chosen creative careers with low income, which is kind of amazing, when you think of it. They kind of missed all of the worst of the family situation, although my middle brother is still fucked up as a result of it, I am sure. He kind of chose art (writing) by default as he didn't want to finish anything else. The younger brother was given liberty to do what he wanted by my mom, which is kind of amazing to me. Whereas I didn't receive a penny for my education (get a scholarship!), when my youngest brother decided to change from engineering to industrial design my mother paid the whole way. I loved him too much to resent this though. I'm glad that he has a career that he enjoys.

My two brothers have never offered me any support and encouragement. I suppose this is because I was the older sister. My brothers have never seemed to care what I do with my life. Perhaps it has been immaturity on their parts. I suppose guys in their twenties are not supposed to be offering a shoulder for their sisters. I guess only the lucky sisters get that.

My brother close in age to me is a like a match to my dynamite. We always fight when we are together, which is why we rarely speak. I've always found him to be selfish and immature, but perhaps he thinks of me in the same way.

Anyhow. Might be good to try to see if they are willing to help me out in this, particularly the young one. Of course, I risk getting incredibly screwed in asking. :)

Witty was right, though: art is healing. I haven't been drawing lately, even though I know it is the best thing for me. I seem to be finding any excuse NOT to do it, which is what is to be expected. So that's the project: change that.

I suspect that the dating thing is really a diversion from the stuff I truly NEED to work out. The pieces of the puzzle fit together pretty well. And of course, frankly, who doesn't want to have sex from time to time! DUH!

This morning as I sat at my table writing - now becoming the most precious time I have in my day - I looked out the window at a blue sky streaked with white. I could hear traffic in the neighbourhood, but the peaked rooftops were silent. I opened the door to the balcony so that I could hear the occasional bird chirp (not many today - it's cold again). I can't wait to start my little balcony garden, I thought.

And then I looked down at my table. I suddenly realized that it is an antique table that was probably made by hand. It's quite rough hewn - which is how I like it - and so I ran my hands over the striations in the wood. I think it was a farm kitchen table. My parents (mom and step-father) gave it to me from their vast storehouse of antiques. I think it was in my step-father's shop. But here it looks pretty and fitting. Sure, it's not a high-end piece, but I wouldn't have it any other way. It has a few marks where I have messed something up on it. It's becoming my tiny corner for thinking and creating. When I was a little girl and I got my first grown-up bed, I asked my mom for furniture such as they had in the "pioneer village" that we had visited in school. So all through my growing up, I had a bed, dresser and desk that had been taken from a barn somewhere. My mom and I "refinished" them ourselves. They were beautiful, in their own rough way. I was fascinated by the fact that they were more than a hundred years old. I used to lie in bed thinking about what that farm room must have been like. The dresser had some small carving in it, and old handmade, square nails. I used to examine it, as if looking for buried treasure. The desk had the original key, so I would open it up and lock it again and again. My mom recently told me she no longer needs the dresser or the desk, was going to get rid of them, so I'm going to ask for them back. The bed was 3/4, so I can't quite use that. My feet hang over the end. :)

Cool! Will check out the book that witty suggested.

Have a wonderful day! PS I was in Italian class and laughing my head off last night and realizing, "This is the only time I've really smiled since last week in this class!" I mean, I smile, normally, but not as widely and freely. I am just not that happy here. When I read in the diary of that girl who moved to Florence on Sunday that when she walks out she feels inspired to write there, which she doesn't where she used to live in North America, I understood. I feel exactly the same transformation when I'm there. I'm a different person - open and free. The trick though will be to figure out how to be that person without changing geography. XO

7:49 a.m. - 2010-03-09

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