Designated Doodler

I remember that exact moment so well. Sitting down at my new desk in my new room at my new house with my first piece of homework. It was English, it was easy, and I was more than ready to escape the relentless desert-scape that was the panhandle of Texas. One of my Dad's old coworkers used to say that Borger wasn't hell, but you could see it from there. Houston felt like a new start. I had painted my room with my mom before we had even moved into the house. The room was blank and in the dim evening light as we worked it transformed into a beautiful light blue. I remember lying down to go to sleep on one of those first weeks spent in the house, thinking to myself, this is the room you're going to grow up in. And it would be. It was the room where I celebrated my 13th birthday, the room where I spent my time watching JAG, building model airplanes and teaching myself how to draw. It's where I read my favorite book for the very first time. It's where I cri...

There is a song That pulls at me It's like a pitch black night With no stars In a quiet apartment TV loud and bright Or a long bike ride In the cold of winter When your own breath Tickles your lungs Stings your throat And makes you cough It feels like the inside Of a cardboard box That will carry away The parts of your life That you've gathered On lonely afternoons At quiet bookstores With green carpet

Today in Liz's blogtopia I was planning on writing about moving. And how it makes me sad and blah blah blah but I've written and deleted three different posts. Nothing sticks, nothing works and it's pissing me off so I'm writing this instead. If I were on a stage and there was a spotlight it would be a soliloquy for sure. Anyway, I can't stop listening to Aimee Mann and I'm living in the valley of the cardboard boxes and I'm in an atrocious mood and I can't even write about moving. Well, I guess this is writing, but not about moving. Please enjoy the accompanying photo and song (neither of which do I retain rights to whatsoever).

This ridiculous semester is almost over and I'm almost peeing myself with excitement at the prospect of leaving. But alas, here I sit in my empty apartment avoiding the unformed boxes that are staring at me from across the room. If you've ever moved (which you probably have) you know that moving is a bitch. I've lived in 3 different states, 5 different cities, and have "moved into" a room about eight times. Being an artist you can imagine that I have a lot of shit to move. I am also an avid reader and lover of books so that means that I have even more shit to move. OH and I love xbox and games and movies and full season collections of my favorite shows....you get the idea, a lot of stuff. And the campus is errily quiet and I get to spend all day reading on Facebook about how all my friends have already left and are comfortably situated at home. It really hit me how empty campus was when I could actually find a parking spot today on campus, and in a prime location....

This morning I woke up at eight something, so much for sleeping in late. I laid there in my pink plaid pajama bottoms and pink TCU hoodie, wrapped in a sea of green sheets. I rested my hand on my chest and felt my heartbeat through both layers of clothing. It beat fast, as usual. And I continued laying there, relishing the fact that I didn't have to be anywhere. My obnoxiously squeaky bed screeched in protest as I got up and opened my blinds. This was going to be a day of errands, artwork and reading my media law book. But no matter what exactly I'm doing the realization that I'm nearly half-done with my last year of college is never far from my thoughts. There are so many possible directions for my life to take post-college that it's mind boggling. Haha, that reminds me of last night when I got caught up on an episode of Community I had missed. Ahbed and Troy had a housewarming party and Jeff created six parallel timelines by rolling a die to see who had to go answer t...