For Frup’s Sake

Looking over last week’s post and the title nagged as familiar. I couldn’t quite place a finger. Nagging persists. Google “Square 1”, somewhere, on the bazillionth page, is a blog entry from yours truly. For fuck’s sake, I just plagiarized myself.

Mmkay, looooooong slow skeptical thinking. Guess who is nervous about trying this stuff again. Guess who has given himself PTSD over this shit. Guess who is super bad about keeping the faith and following through. Mother Hubbard in the cubbard with a rubber lover… Pardon the expletives.

So incoming self trauma.

I’m honestly thinking about picking up a shrink for this go-through. Might as well attend a support group too. My fears are many, isolating, depression, the inevitable crazy. Social anxiety, social ineptitude, burnout! Yet, I’m still compelled. Mother Hubbard!… Again, sorry.

What am I going to do differently? What can I do that I haven’t already done a millionth time before? What jank logic am I falling into? What am I not seeing? Oh, look! More uncertainty! More neuroses. Long, long sigh.

I’ll get computers outta the house? Go cyber sober. Which will keep me focused and bored as fuck, but honest. The advertising, though. I just don’t know. I have no idea what, why, or how. I’m a nervous bird. Yet, still compelled.

Times like these, I respect those people who can and do practice faith. What a skill! In the face of uncertainty, sometimes dauntingly so, the ability to keep optimistic, endure, and follow-through. Wow, what a nice gift to have.

Nervous and uncertain as I am, I’m gonna throw myself against this wall. Again. It’s a lifelong affliction, I’m sure. The hope is to convert that affliction into a blessing… Somehow.

Square 1

Ever return to square one? How about for the forty-seventh time?

It kinda feels like what I’m doing now. I’m doing art again. Gonna do poetry again. Going to finish that second book… Again. This is how far I’ve traveled since last I scribbled something down here. It’s arguable whether or not the journey was long or fraught. Worth is also questionable. Regardless, here I am.

You don’t have to look far into my past to see how confused and disoriented I can get. I have plenty of goals and attempted goals documented around the internets. Going back some sixteen years. As you can imagine, that afore mentioned disorientation and confusion gets amplified.

I suppose that all has to do with this fancy age of computers we live in. One gets to say things. Statements where there’s no taking back. Meticulously documented lives. Yep, food for thought.

So, yeah, art. I do that. And since it’s been painfully long, I am quite rusty. Be that as it may, I’m banging off the rust and oiling up the gears. The machinery I use is dated, but faithful. I expect it to be at full chug in no time. Along with few pieces further in art. In life.

No dates or anything on when things will be rustled up. No promises either. I’ve broken enough of those. I’ll tell you what I’ve got, instead.

http://www.stevetlaws.art is back up again. Further updates to be applied. My facebook and twitter are also restored. Lord knows whether or not I’ll update those regularly. I have an abiding hatred of social media. We’ll see. My priority list has me writing poetry, and because I’m a neophyte, studying it too. Hunting for a few shows to display my art would help me. That’s also on the list.

I’ve been doing well at it thus far in the restart. The only real conflict from it all coming from regular work. I use the word “conflict” lightly. I need regular work though.

Speaking of, work needs doing. I’m off to get dressed and off again to succeed in life… You know, somehow.

Vacay… Ends Today

At the work. Writing as I go. Getting paid to do so. So how was vacation?

I don’t know if y’all do this, but I certainly do. Where I will get ALL the chores done. Relax, improve my life, clean the rest of the house, yard work, too, finish up those art projects, publish those next two books, build that home addition, find that special girl, be fruitful and multiply, live to 110 years sharp as a tack; essentially, build Shangri-La and do it all in ten breezy carefree days.

Spoilers: Shangri-La was not built.

The drive was pleasant, beautiful, and easy. Love drinking in the vistas and the intoxication thereof. I made a point of visiting old stomping grounds along the way. Strangely, the nostalgia highs I was anticipating were, honestly, underwhelming. The old addage, “You can’t go home again.” hits hard here.

It’s always nice to see mom. Ma is holding her own. She’s built for herself a happy little house with a garden in the back yard and pets oh-so spoiled with love. Whiling away any free time with art projects and, she’ll deny it, an addiction to YouTube.

In relation to indulgences, the drinking was too much. So much so I vow not a drop more after today. I swear!… No, really!… I mean it this time!.. Stop!

Chores that bore I did very little of. All my responsibility points were spent on finishing up finals for school. Soon my ten year plan to earn a two year degree will come to fruition. As a close friend repeatedly reminds me… Consoles me, really, my heart isn’t in it.

So there’s the vacation briefing. It was good over all. And sorely needed. I’m back in my exercise kick which is wonderful. I never know how lazy I’ve gotten until I get back to my workout and compare my result from now to where I was. Good incentive to get back in and stay in.

And lastly, if anything I’ve learned, as cliche as it may be. Happiness is in those little things we regularly take for granted. For me: mom, art, exercise, and self-care.

More art soon… I’m shy.

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