adiva_calandia

So hey. It's been a week, hasn't it.

( Obviously this is some emotional vomit about the election. )

Here's something that's maybe a little more fun, though. ladysingsthe  suggested, and I jumped on board, that we run an Inktober/30-30 style art challenge in the 30 days leading up to Trump's inauguration. We're calling it Art Trumps Hate (#arttrumps3030), and the goal is twofold: to start channeling our feelings into creation (the opposite of war, as Jonathan Larsen said), and to troll that fascist motherfucker. I'll post about more details as we develop them.

Anyway. I love you. I am not going anywhere anytime soon (even if I do continue to stay off Facebook).

I am not overwhelmingly okay at the moment; my monthly emotional downturn is taking me to a somewhat lower low than usual.

Please bear with me. Normal service should resume in a week or so.

I'm having a pretty shitty day, BUT (from email):

two teenage girls in a row just made my day so much better: the Supernatural fan with the Dean pendant [that I met a few weeks ago at this market and scored points with by recognizing the pendant] came back, and a girl recognized Shakespeare on my "Shakespeare gotta get paid, son" shirt and was like "Shakespeare's AWESOOOME, HIGH FIVE!" So I asked her what her favorite play is and she said "Umm, Taming of the Shrew! It's so funny!" "Yeah, that was the first show I ever directed!" "!!!"

So thank you, Queen Anne, teenaged girls, for being awesome.

You know, the first half of 2012 was pretty rough in a lot of ways. I started anti-anxiety meds. I had more than one meltdown in spite of them. I was often hard on myself, because someone was being hard on me. I -- and all of Anchorage -- lost someone beautiful to suicide.

But I made it through. And in September, I walked four hundred miles to Santiago. And in October, I moved to a new city. And in November, I wrote a novel. And in December, I worked.

And today, I finally got myself a bookshelf and finished unpacking my books, and strung up my little Christmas lights (only a week late!), and my itty-bitty living space feels like home.



For those of you on this side of the world, where it's still December 31st, I hope that your night tonight is warm and safe and full of light and laughter. And for all of you, no matter where or who you are, I hope that 2013 is good to you. I hope that 2013 sees you home.

Woke up at 4:30 in a panic because I was sure I had mis-copied the permission forms for check in today. Went over to camp at 7 to confirm that I had, in fact, done it right. Came over to the coffee shop for coffee and a chocolate croissant, continuing to fret over whether or not I have enough of a different permission form, and just realized I didn't take my anti-anxiety med this morning. WHOOPS.

There is some muscle in my right shoulder that is twitching.

Happy fucking Monday, y'all.

( To-do )

I don't wanna get out of bed. *hides* Just three more days and then I get Friday off. To do other last-minute show prep.

My caffeine consumption is really nowhere near healthy levels at the moment.

In spite of my morning of "UGH UGH UGH DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE THE HOUSE," I had a pretty fine time at work, and as I was leaving I remembered what one of my mentors told me: that you have to celebrate even the little victories. Ice cream cake moments, I think she called them. She was talking about things like getting a meeting with an agent, or interest in a story -- stuff that wouldn't necessarily pan out to a ~big success~ but stuff that counts as a victory all the same -- and how the first time she got one of those victories, her husband bought them an ice cream cake. And that, she says, is necessary to keep you going, especially in the arts. If you deny yourself rewards because a victory wasn't big enough, then you'll burn out.

So maybe my only victory today was working without panicking about anything, but you know what? Still a success, and still worth treating myself to brie and apples for a late lunch.