I voluntarily exposed myself today by resurfacing on Instagram and giving access to this website and this blog, and I have learned that I absolutely loathe and resent having a blog, which is exactly the reason I need to keep it up. If a tiny amount of exposure makes me want to die under a bridge, then I need far more if I’m ever going to sustain any sort of public practice that gives me enough money to make rent. Although I currently feel repulsed by the self (my idiot one in particular), I’m going to keep fucking writing on this little platform like a coked up little mouse. Exposure exposure therapy. I do fear the way that acknowledging others’ perceptions will disturb my trains of thought. But it’s inescapable at this point, so I’m just going to assume that nobody’s reading these silly entries anyway. Sweet chariot of clarity. Recently I wanted to tell Vanessa that I was hungry but what came up was “I’m up in my grumbly.” So now I say that sometimes and it’s very exciting and fun to say phrases you made up isn’t it????????? Please calm down. It’s okay for me to be in the open, everyone’s busy zipping their collective fly and painting the Sistine Chapel. Flail, bitch, flail! Do it up real big. You know how I like it. A little sprawl on the carpet, I’m just trying to exist. One other concern at the moment is getting all of my writing to play nicely together in a thesis. Its content varies so drastically that I fear certain tones perspectives of my voice will come through as more trustworthy than others’. In the sense that people find out an actor has released a record, and are annoyed. Because they should stay in their area of expertise and so on. Yeah. Relax.
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