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.
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.
Hello there. My name is Steve, I’m six-pack drunk and filled to the brim with pizza and cheese sticks. I’m writing here through a fog of alcohol and saturated fats. Wish me luck.
I’m but a few days from birthday 43. I’m on the fifth (?) day of vacation on an 11-day vacation. I’m outta town. Some of it is checking on ma, who is doing well, and some is just me getting away. The past four days have been a delight what with all the vistas, internal introspection and deep thoughts, and getting away from the routine so as to refine the routine always is welcome after a few years of routines. As to the booze and overeating, well, fuck, it was supposed to be art and exercise. I mixed up some of the essentials. I’ll try harder next time.
Remember how I said I’d get all the things done with catharsis on top? Compromises were made. Turns out I did lots of parcels of each larger project I was initially attempting. I traveled just fine, but the part about fiscally, maybe not so much. Finishing finals, Sure! valiant efforts were made for a chronic procrastinator neglectful careless student. Ooops. Might have failed a test. When I say Might, I def did. Visited ma. Meant to do some art, mixed-up art with boozing. meant to, I dunno, do more responsible things, played it by ear, and … here I am, trying to compensate.
Am I full of giult? Fuuuuck, I might be a lil too enebriated for that at the moment. Will I feel it later/ Fuck yes, good news is, I will overcompensate the fuck outta myself. Exercise, arts, responsibilities. The whole gammit, at least until responsibility fatigue sets in. Then back to the norm of carnality.
“want” has been on my mind a lot this trip. I find I am “want” for very few things. I’m surviving just fine. I am sheltered, fed, and allotted enough free time for indulgent sins. What more can a guy ask for? I’ve been struggling to answer that one. Pretty hard. I’m not married, I’m without kids, obligations are pretty minimal. By design. And with all this room, I’m fuck all how I want to fill it. At least responsibly.
What do I want? I mean really, the kind of want you are prepared to grind through. And fuck all, I’m not sure. Art is on there, but in measure small doses. I’m way more used to all or nothing with artistic pursuits. Writing here, oh, the temptation to do writing each week, or two, or every day is there. But is the want to commit to that enough past burn out a thing. There’s school? Eye-rolling school, which degree is worth a shit? Whichever is easiest to attain and earns the most money? yeah… That’s the one.
Women, which is ever easiest. . . I’ll also accept the one that offers me the most meaning. Kids? At this age and at my wage, likely not. Who knows, maybe a rich lady with a mid-life crisis will appreciate a sperm doner of my magnitude.No. Like the rest of the things in life, smaller seems better.
Mom wanted to do something special for the birthday. Me, I’m not feeling it. The whole thing feels like committing myself to a ceremony I do not want to satisfy people or traditions I could care less about. Don’t get me wrong, but I’ve spent a long time trying to figure out what makes me happiest, turns out its a little ceremony of me and a few sins that are rare but that I learned to appreciate. Booze is in there, the occasional girlfriend too, and, fuck, laziness has always been a thing.