To exist at the exact intersection of terminally quirked-up earnestness and pitch-black, bitter cynicism is my extremely silly cross to bear, both as an artist and generally as a person.
Thought I’d unwind by watching an antique doll restoration video but the doll was in such grisly condition down to the stuffing that watching the initial disassembly began to feel like I was watching an autopsy?
Is the idea that if you keep fucking around with things, then we’ll somehow be so desperate to restore order that we’ll pay for the privilege?
I’d sooner just log off.
…why are they so committed to breaking everything about this platform seemingly for the hell of it. Like, what are the conversations driving these choices.
I’m certain it must be in the misguided service of profit, but I’m not sure exactly how.
Pros of keeping your windows open in the summertime:
• keeps the house from getting as stuffy
• you can hear wind chimes and birdsong
• watching your drapes billow dramatically as the wind picks up in a storm
Spent the entire day painting and after five hours I have emerged from the studio into a thunderstorm to find temperature has dropped about fifteen degrees, so life is beautiful once again.
Tentative heatwave plans: finding a recipe for all my excess stone fruit, affogatos, re-reading old Ai Yazawa manga, flea market, maybe a movie, maybe a drive out to the lake.
We always have small woodland creatures roaming campus, and they usually keep their distance. But today a wild rabbit let me walk right up to it, seemingly with no fear, as our paths crossed on my way to my office. Then, after a beat, it casually hopped into some nearby bushes.
Weekend so far: cleaned the apartment, neighborhood walk, first bakery run since wisdom tooth surgery, used bookstore, picked up a little folio of Venetian Renaissance paintings, regrettable horror matinee, desperately needed haircut, home for dinner.