Wait, broke the wagon. Yes, wait.

I don't know what happens to me between then and now. Or happened upon. Or once upon a time. They all seem to be the same and indifferent to me anyway. Not that I'm indifferent. Gosh, if anything all I do is care care care and then care some more. And that's when things that I want to get done fall on the wayside. Or never get out of wherever they're clutter brained away in the first place. It's a metaphor or an idiom but it may not have worked. And besides I stole it from Bob Harper; he describes clutter brain as all the noise in regards to weight loss and nutrition and diets that we've encountered in our lifetime and that keeps us from reaching our (weight loss) goals because it clutters our brains. I think. Shoot, my dad may have been saying this to me all along. He calls it using my memory for things irrelevant, I like to call that using my memory for details - see how different our perspective is already? I remember seeing a red sweater on a stranger 4 days ago in the 3rd aisle from the left when I was wondering the store looking for something I couldn't remember finding and I can still see the sweater, v neck, thin weight, almost cranberry but why was I in the store again? I guess we get in our weigh? Hah, Bob Harper, did you use that line in your book? I suppose it goes both ways/weighs!!! But really what it comes down to is wait - how long do we allow ourselves to wait to achieve success? Whatever your definition of success may be. However minute or insane a success is to you. Why do we wait? What are we waiting for? The only thing that is certain is that you can't wait forever because you eventually run out of time. Of course I keep thinking there's plenty of time, tomorrow, next week, after this holiday or that birthday or when we get a rainy day or when I win the lottery - because those are the best times to start something new or something I've been putting off or waiting for. See, it really was wait that broke the wagon. 

18 sample pieces - #s 16 - 18

crackle
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18 sample pieces - #s 11 - 15

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18 sample pieces - #s 6 - 10

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18 sample pieces - #s 1 - 5

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2 Days of Finishing School

The Finishing School - Faux Design

Furniture & Cabinet Distressing & Aging

a wrinkle in time - again

Studio takes up lots of time, as we know, those of us fortunate enough to be a part of it, if fortunate feels appropriate herein, since many a time, it feels rather unfortunate to be drained of energy and deprived of sleep. Yet the reward of such intense extremes put on our physical well being i.e. so far it's been freezer cold in studio, is the knowledge that as a fellow studio-mate said, we can count the months until we get our lives back, or until being in studio is not our only life.

This being said, and although I am in studio once again, and time being limited for outside endeavors, I think blogging is a great way of communicating, beyond the facebook and twitter mania, as it seems to be a singular story told in classic type-written text without any silly quizzes and applications and interruptions of unrelated posts. I shall return to the blog and see what comes of it.

Assuming time doesn't give in to only studio and that a wrinkle remains for typing thoughts.

6 months later, again

Problematically speaking, confusion is clear now. So it seems, seemingly enough. That I sit in darkness typing this entry whilst all else is oh-so-ever: apparently apparent, obviously obvious, instinctually instinctual, biologically biological, evidently evident and so so so much more that words can only reiterate on this screen with dual diligence and repetitive fury.
The sun also rises. The snow melts. Life's cycle regains earthly splendor. Gaiety surrounds. All things equal, the human heart prevails, deeply awakened from before its eyes, under its nose and from first glance, by an eternal bond that explained to anyone else would be a fruitless torment of labeled confusion that, thus problematically, is clear, at least to me.

Long time away

So it has come to my attention that I forgot all about this thing called blog. Not willingly of course, nor unwillingly, either. Just forgot my password actually and didn't know where it was or who it was or the sum of either or both of those things. However, my attention reclaimed, I found it and made life easier by accessing through my ever-so-loved gmail account. Now watch out world, I'll be typing away again. But not so fast: tired, I am and sleep, i must. So good night again Gracie and another day I shall be more fulfilling.

The Headache of Headaches

No, this isn't a metaphore for: "Oh my, what have we here? This will be a pain in the ass to deal with - what a headache!" Rather, I'm talking regular ordinary headaches! Everyday. Period. Why am I getting headaches? That's my headache - getting daily headaches! Seriously though - I'm buying stock in Bayer Asprin! 'Nuff said.

The hypo-ponimous is still in the room.

This concept of a virtual digital diary that anyone anywhere can read is fascinating... where was this when I needed it? - Who'm I kiddin'? I need this now!

I used to keep a hand written diary that I started one random new year's morning, not much of a random time to start something new I'd say, but I thought I was being cohesively original with the whole resolution concept, (cohesive because I promised I'd write daily and with the same exact pen) which for most people remains merely that - a concept, although to my surprise it lasted about 7 or 8 months, which when it did terminate, if you will, was not voluntary but rather almost mandatorily placed upon me. Looking back I might have hoped to keep it up for a full year - and if your just joining our program already in progress a.k.a. out of context that is quite the request and perhaps a detriment to any man's health although that too may be arguable as pleasure to the rest of us perverts - but alas I stopped writing in this archaic paper bound journal as it was a mere perpetuation and outcry for my hypochondria to blossom, though the paxil might have had something to do with the aforementioned lack of lasting both the journal and the other underlying innuendo: it only took 2 entries for me, yes the one that calls myself me, to hint at an erection; some things never change - don't act so surprised.

The journal did end. Well the act of writing my thoughts down anyway, but not so much the virtual journal, pre-blogger entity that I house upstairs and to some, don't use so well or efficiently or at all, others might argue - I personally avoid arguing most of the time and confrontation and anger are mere words in the dictionary - but the upstairs trinket is none other than my very own Barbie Malibu Mansion, ugh, I mean, my brain, yes that's it, my brain - how'd that flashback to Lidia's 7th birthday party slip into this stream of consciousness typing in the dark 1:32am moment?

Nevermind you now, I do keep myself up at night to avoid sleep and to erase journal entries of the past (upstairs in the mansion), and now to write new ones that you are reading now. But here's the rub: erasing the old hypochondriatic moments only makes room for the current ones and that's an ongoing battle only xanax can destroy - or therapy - or playing violin - or learning Italiano - or a Key West vacation - or the many things that keep myself and me occupied and away from the self sabotaging mindgames that the uncontrolled thoughts of what appear to be legitimate complaints keep putting into my head. Hypochondriacs need loving too - actually they say that's why we are so hypo, cuz we need attention, which is not entirely true cuz we don't really do it for the attention - I draw enough of that on my own - and usually my ailments turn out to be completely real and I just think it's cuz I'm very in tune with my own body. My own body. That's the key, it's my own -

my brain just shut down, I had a thought process that followed that last thought above, but it didn't make it down to my typing fingers. Say good night Gracie.

Good Night Gracie.

Detour Over

It came to my attention - or just now passed into my awareness as it's been obvious the whole time yet cloudy are the eyes through which I've broached this topic in my mind - that I'm searching for closure, not just any kind of closure, but the best flying colors kind of closure that only I can assumingly accomplish with my apparent greatness that has been lying dormant over these many years of solitude despite the world of people in my life, my mind keeps replaying how emotionally attached I was to school - in this case for my masters in architecture - and how lonely it is when I'm not creating greatness that my insides predict I've been destined for and with which I cannot live happily, just ordinarily like the rest of us who stopped going after the dream, as it so suddenly goes from dream to reality to failure and one never gets back up from that broken pitfall. It is time to grab the tattered rope that swings down into the abyss of darkness and start climbing back up it one knot at a time. Because time is all we have.