Madrigle

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just writing, cause it's what i felt like doing.
Saturday, Jul. 27, 2002 @ 12:30 p.m.

Last night I went out with the girls.It was supposed the be the girls, Curtis and I, but . . . (that really should be a capitalized BUT) his brother called him and said he needed him to babysit so they could go to some church function. Their babysitter had canceled and there backup was not available. So naturally they laid it on Curtis. Really I understand, and really I would have done the same thing, BUT why couldn't he just say he already had plans? I hadn't spent time with him for a couple of days, and I was just so wanting him to meet and hang out with the girls before they leave. I wanted him to see the friendship that we have. But it didn't happen. And for today he just called and said he was going swimming at his other brother's and that some lady is taking him to dinner at the country club tonight.



GRRRRR . . .



I keep wondering how long I would be able to stand the attention I've been craving from him. How long would it be before I felt stifled and overwhelmed with attention. Maybe it's better this way. Would it be one of those be careful what you ask for situations?



***



I've had a pause in my thrusting down my roots and thriving here in Houston.

I guess going home, as much as it opened my eyes to the fact that I don't want to be there. Well in the south anyway. Although, Las Cruces, my college town,is really growing into a VERY attractive and thriving city. Ok, so here is a super secret thought about moving back. I don't want to move back without somebody. Dammit, I want my OWN little capsule of a family. (Just for clarification, when I talk about family and marriage, and other things that are stereotypically thought of in a heterosexist light, I'm referring to a gay version of those institutions, just so you know.)

Ok, back to the thrusting down of roots, that I abandoned in that last paragraph. Or whatever that monstrosity above is.

Yeah, so I've had a pause, but it's not going to go on any longer. I was talking last night with Monica about my conversations with Mal, about me thriving here in Houston, and other related tangents, about how if I do get a new car, that I will no longer be able to afford art school, but yeah, so I was talking to Monica, and I told her that I really want to invest in my surroundings, starting with my apartment. I've just about decided to say fuck it all and just go to town in this place. I'm thinking sage walls, with a sage-Khaki color ragged on over it. And I want red walls in my bedroom. Not Chinese red, but something close to the color of blood, not clotted but somewhere in-between that moment when it's platelets aline and it becomes a clot. And then I want a dark stain of a color from a watercolor set I had as a child called Cherokee purple, which was really more of a murky brown. Sometimes you thought you could see a purplish look to it, but it always just ended up looking brown. But understand I just want this color introduced. I want the red to just be brought depth by it. And I want the carpet ripped up and I want to create this amazing mottled taupe-ish colored parchment stained concrete floor affect. Using feather dusters, a technique I learned in prop painting workshops. And the wall behind my bed I'm going to mount with cheep corrugated aluminum. You know that wavy stuff? And over that will be hung Stifled creation as a pseudo headboard for my bed.



***



Bruce wants to commission a painting for above his couch. I can't wait. I told him to buy the canvas and I would take care of the rest.



***



I'm beginning to identify more and more with modern artists. I mean a lot of stuff I've just thought was crap. But each time someone sees one of my painting and just says, "nice." or "interesting." I feel so shot down. I mean I try to explain the motivations for them, and the emotional energy that was released during their creation, and they just look at me, like well, I'm a crazy artist. Maybe I should take that as a backhanded compliment. And then others see them and are blown away, and stare deep into their depths, and marvel at the complexity of the layers, that are most visible in the morning light. They see the struggles and the emotions, and ponds, they always see ponds, deep languid ponds. I like that. So yeah, I'm identifying more with the artist. I mean, understand I still think a lot of it is crap, but I esperately want to know what they were feeling and thinking when they were doing it.



***



2 other banners I was messing around with.

I'm going to download a gif animation program. Maybe it will make my animated banner work better.



***



Things I'm thinking about cooking today.

Chicken and *whole grain* dumplings. (I'm weaving sugar busters back into the fabric of my life)

Ok, bleh on New Mexican food. I've done it alllllll week, as some odd culinary echo to my recent trip home.

I don't' feel like getting to, um, creative.

I just want something, nourishing, wholesome, with a low glycemic index, that I can eat on for a few days.

And admittedly I'm kind of out of ideas. Well at least ideas that sound enticing. (Truthfully I've been craving nothing but Sushi for days, even though I stuffed

myself with it after church on Wednesday.)

Yuck, this chef, on PBS, is making a gezpacho that looks totally over blended to me. Maybe I shouldn't criticize things I know nothing about. Good plan.

Grilled meats on baby lettuces with ginger lime dressings? salads? Bleh.

Italian. Bleh

Thai. Bleh

Come on Madrigle, think.

And why do cooked carrots have to have such a very high glycemic index?

I'm off to read back issues of fine cooking and eating well for inspiration.

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