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Language Log

Saturday, Nov. 11, 2023 - 6:09 a.m.

Q woke me at 5am because she was scared. I cleared off a space on the extra bed for her and by the time I got back from the bathroom she said she’d changed her mind. Then she said she was cold, but when I offered to turn the heat up a notch for her she said no, she was too hot. So now I’m awake.

The last calligraphy class today. We’re all supposed to work from the same set of quotes today and I’m already feeling some kind of way about that, not like I have any other quote I wanted to use. But I just don’t know whether I can. I remind myself that I don’t have to do anything, I can do what I want, no one has to see it. I get less feedback that way but that’s my business.

But I already have that sinking feeling and fear. I don’t really want to spend my day having meltdowns.

Things I’m not willing to do for art: cooperate in a class setting, take writing an artist statement seriously, pose smilingly in my fascinating, organized studio. I’m only dooming myself and complaining about it the whole way but I’m convinced none of it matters.

But yesterday I was overcome with that shame one has in remembering one’s past actions and interactions and I remembered that all I can do now to make up for it is a) try not to be a twat, though I’m pretty sure I still am, and b) make beautiful things. Never mind that my beautiful things hardly see the light of day because I’m an uncooperative twat.

Anyway the textile piece is all transition and no edges, all lines and loops and interconnected cells.

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