Aunt Ayo's Great Ambitions

Ambition.
It's something I have in abundance. My dreams always sound grandiose when I share them with others.
"I'm going to be a published author, a moderately famous musician, a painter and photographer."
I always feel slightly abashed when I reveal the plan.
Why should I though?
Isn't it admirable to even attempt such things?

The women in the picture are performing another stage adaption to the Shakespeare play The Tempest. It's called Ariel, after the fairy in the original play.
I could, quite possibly, have just purchased the same face powder as them.
At Walgreens today I bought Airspun face powder. They've been making it since 1935.
I feel like I'm living some great tradition every time I put my face on.
I know, tangents are my specialty.
I want to start working harder on the things I dream of. I want to paint giant canvases and record "Forgive my Intrusion."
I want to collaborate with models, photographers, artists, writers, musicians...
I need a muse.
Or at least some work ethic.
Today was quite fantastic.
We were paid eighty dollars for the last gig at Casa Vino...
I've now made more than a hundred dollars on my music career.
I just want to tell the world, LIVE. Don't just be a boring waste of space.
Well, back to my book.

Things I Hate: A List

1. Texting
2. Saying Goodbye
3. Dying of the plague
4. Insomnia
5. Zits that don't pop
6. Statistics
7. Library Fines
8. Mold
9. Smelly litter boxes
10. College
11. People who like to shit on other people's faces and/or dreams
12. My singing voice
13. Job hunting

I could go on.

Spokane, Fuck you.

I am most distressed that Spokane will soon be stealing away my sister, and even more upset that I cannot visit her.
She is a loyal and fantastic companion, and sadly it took us until relatively recently to become this close.
You see, I was the perpetually annoying younger sister.
We bonded over coffee, cigarettes, vampires, writing, and bollywood dancing.
We share a dark sense of humor that most do not appreciate.
I will miss her proximity to my house.
I will miss her early morning phone calls dragging me out into the world.
I will miss the bookworm, even though it stinks of the asian food that is fried next door.
I will miss dyeing our hair together.
I will miss the random drives and the long conversations.
I will miss drawing characters for her books. And talking about those characters for hours...
I hope Spokane has a late night coffee shop. (That doesn't taste like 'Roasters.')

Don't worry Haley, I'll take the train if the snow gets too bad.
I just called Amtrak and it only costs $20 one way.

Flattering...

Napoleon Dynamite...?
But truly it's really quite flattering to be drawn by a stranger.
He did a good job too.

Bartholomew and Charlie!

Here is Charlie, Bartholomew doesn't trust me enough to pose yet.

I just realized that I am on the right track to becoming a crazy cat lady...

The Perks of Being a Hermit

1. The house is in shambles, but no one complains. I haven't done dishes in at least a week.
2. I can play whatever music at whatever volume that I desire. Whenever.
3. The isolation stimulates my urges to write, read, paint and play music.
4. Being naked around the house.
5. Singing badly and feeling no shame.

There are drawbacks of course, but overall it's a good deal.
After much deliberation, I am postponing my escape from the Tri-Cities until March.
It's only September.
March is so very far away.
But it provides me much time to accrue finances and employment.
Currently I have no idea how to live on my own and file tax returns.
I guess I had better learn. I won't be receiving a scholarship. Haha.

Today I nearly chopped off all of my hair.
Don't know why.
I started on my bangs and progressed to the split ends. Then I held the scissors poised to snip off my orangey-blonde-red locks. To my chin.
I think it's madness as opposed to an attempt to be trendy. Sometimes I look at a day and become horrified that it is exactly like all of the others. Sometimes I feel like my reflection should change, should reflect something behind the mask of skin, teeth, hair.
It never really does.
So I, driven by boredom, attack my hair with scissors or bottles of dye.
Maybe I'm just trying to change myself.
Maybe it's like the guy in Silence of the Lambs who is sewing a woman suit. He thinks he is a transsexual, but really he just hates himself so intensely that any change seems preferable. But even if he managed to become a woman, he would still loathe the person inside of packaging.
What a useless struggle.
How many hours are wasted away longing for a better body, a different color of eyes, a more sultry voice?
When the things we can actually change (maybe) are just solidifying with every passing year.
Until our faults and hatreds are embedded so deeply into our personalities that it is nearly a lost cause.
That said,
I'm really resisting the urge to cut off my hair still.
If I just keep typing and prattling on...I'll keep the demon at bay.
But I'm running out of material.
I finished Perks of Being a Wallflower again today.
I love that book so fucking much.

Shrunken Heads and Depression

http://mortuussoul.deviantart.com/

Well, here's to another Thursday.
I have to finish my college application today, send my transcript.
Lately I haven't been feeling too bad about my physical appearance. No, I didn't grow self esteem, I just have a class with a little head man in it.
It breaks my heart to look at him; I can't imagine living with such an obvious deformity. People look at freaks more than beautiful specimens. So lately I've thought things like, "Jesus, I am really getting obese..." or "Fuck, look at the tumor growing on my face..." but these thoughts are followed with the simple image of this grown man with a tiny head.
Then the biology nerd inside me asks things like, how is this mutation carried on? Would his fore bearers have been able to reproduce with any willing member of the opposite sex? Did they just form a colony of little head people? I wish that were the case, but they seem really rare. So I concluded that it was a birth defect not caused by lingering genetic material...an accident.
Okay, I've spent way too much time on him in today's blog, but I feel his influence in my life now.
Back to the main point, college.
I am not what anyone would call a social butterfly. Not even a social moth...I'm more like a spider.
Hiding in little corners and only meeting people when they catch me between places. Normally resulting in my spider legs disconnectedly twitching and my body a pulp of brownish juices.
So I find the concept of moving to a new community with new people more than intimidating.
Apparently some people do not have this challenge.
And apparently moving on to new faces is just a part of life's great scheme.
Excuse me for forgetting my lines.
I don't want new people. I liked the old ones just fine.
And even after they are gone, hours away, being cool and making buddies, I refuse to relinquish the hold that they had on me.

So I'm caught up in this confusing pile of emotion.
Leave, stay, leave, stay, leave...?
Stay and compost?
Leave and be lonely?
I can't decide.
I can't keep up my cardboard smiles much longer either, I'm sad.
Just driving down the road, the places in between the songs on the CD, the stifling quiet of nighttime, trying to sleep, thinking about old phone calls, listening to the crazy parts of my head that I used to try to ignore,my unfinished painting, so many small things I can't explain.
I'm bordering on the ridiculous. But that's just me.