Cold Storage

puddleThere is something special about the way a person feels when recovering from a disgusting scourge. This past week and a half I’ve been sicker than any time in recent memory. I felt like I was drowning in my own goo. Literally. Finally had to break down this past Friday and go to the doctor, who prescribed antibiotics and some COUGH MEDICINE. Needless to say, I was happy to see my old pal in the little pink bottle. Not from the place where a junky feels happy to have some smack (okay, maybe a little), but truly, happy because I knew if I took a little teaspoon of the stuff in the late afternoon, I’d be able to sleep at night. And it worked, just the way it always works. And I’m starting to feel almost human again, but human with a great appreciation of simply feeling normal. I’m a huge fan of hitting all sorts of rock-bottoms with hope of a new start. I am being rewarded finally, for all the suffering and sleepless nights taking care of my little sick ones, by almost feeling normal. My ears are a little stuffed up, my chest is still fluidy, but my brain is starting to clear. I’ll take what I can get.

Hmmm. I was given an ultimatum from my food blog. If I don’t start posting regularly, three times a week, then I’m getting the ol’ heave-ho. It is true, recently I have been slacking and only making a post or two every two or so weeks! How have I gotten away with so little for so long? Not sure why I’ve been so uninspired lately. After I got the notice about my impending pink slip for a job I don’t really get paid for, I had to really think about whether it was worth it to keep the thing going or to move on. I decided that as utterly barren the food blog compartment in my withered brain is, I should try to actually do what they ask so I have something to show for this past year in terms of working. Even if it is a silly food blog, it is still a thing that I do weekly, that shows I’m capable of something. Capable of cooking dinner on the cheap. Capable of making gluten-free peach cobbler and dairy-free cakey. Maybe I should consider moving into the incredibly lucrative profession of making food. HA! My husband does have a fantasy of starting up a vegan biscuit house and velvet liquor bar (both, simultaneously). But these are projects he would pursue if he was suddenly endlessly wealthy and it wouldn’t matter if the businesses succeeded or not. We are not in that position at the moment.

Not much time or energy to work on CameraMorte’s photo book these past few weeks. My goal of producing a book by the end of the year is looming. My goal should be to at least finish laying out the book by the end of the year, then if I get any Xmas or birthay money (bday near xmas), I can actually afford to print up a few books. There are two art deadlines coming up; one for a local $25,000 prize, and one is for an AIDS benefit in NYC. Need to get those two items off my list.

Have not been to 4Horseshoes in two weeks since I got sick. My paintings have probably frozen into large hunks of oil painted ice. Cold storage. Took a bunch of reflective photos from the puddles running down the center of the studio when I was there two weekends ago, which I kind of like. Could be cool paintings. Maybe they should stay photos. But I would like to have a series of paintings planned so I can just go in and do them.

The girls are napping. A positive by-product of them being sickly is they need and want sleep. I need and want them to sleep, too, so it is a win-win situation.

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One thought on “Cold Storage

  1. two anecdotes:

    1) when i am having trouble writing my diss, or getting any work done for that matter, i always remember a studio review i had with marilyn minter and david reed at sva. i told them i was having trouble working because i didn’t feel inspired. they kind of exchanged a glance and started laughing. “it doesn’t work like that,” marilyn said. “first you work, THEN you feel inspired.”

    2) over the summer, while teaching my politics and film class, where the kids have to sit in a room and write all day, one of them would occasionally sit in frustration and tell me they had writer’s block. i would start singing: “just keep writing, just keep writing, what do we do? we write,” a variant of the tune from “finding nemo.” (ellen degeneres’ fish sings, “just keep swimming…”) now that i am trying to write grant applications and my diss, i keep singing that to myself.

    the moral of these little stories is that i find it’s true — the more i write, the more i want to write and the easier it gets. when it starts feeling hard, i just remind myself to keep going and eventually it will feel easier again. of course, the joy of writing history is that i can always go back to my sources; i don’t have to dream something up from scratch.

    love you, love your work, in all its forms.

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