These questions never get answered


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It’s one of those nice days. One of those nice days that gets you thinking about life and living and hopes and dreams and what not…you know, that whole ‘what does it all mean’ business.

It’s irritating and exhausting.  It’s irritating to have to daydream about what my life’s path is and whether or not I’m following it accordingly.  Can’t I just drink my delicious latte, listen to some Pearl Jam and drive through the tree lined streets imagining myself writing best selling memoirs on a sunny porch?  Can’t I just do that?

No.  Nah.  Nope.  Not in the cards for this girl.  I get in my own mind’s way most of the time.  I seem to get caught up in the reality of laundry and dog food and cooking dinner that is wholesome and effortless.

I think back to that first assigned self portrait I had to create during my first year in art school.  A mess of tag board, watercolor, words to a shitty poem, and some other collaged bits.  I thought I knew myself then…until my teacher and classmates critiqued it.  Awful. Hideous. Meaningless.  Small town.  Juvenile.  What did I know about art??  What did I know about myself??

Maybe that’s the beauty of it.  Never really knowing?

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