I was about to update on N's computer and then realized. Oh. Everything I do on his computer destroys it. Even looking at it? ESPECIALLY looking at it.

I'm rather fed up by this Watershed business. I've been putting in donations for about a year (which is what I consider the rent I've paid for a place I haven't had time and energy to utilize), have felt pressured to work there when I scarcely have it together enough to work on my home, and now I'm being accused of wrongdoing by the landlord, who has locked my shit up so I can't even move it out.

Everyone else involved with the metal shop is too stressed or spotty to even think about dealing with it. (or, as I've just learned, given a key-- some form of power which enables them to not care so much.) There doesn't seem to be anything I can do. I exchanged texts with Deadletter for about 2 1/2 hours yesterday, hoping to probe his deranged little brain. Apparently he's afraid of things "going missing." Things have already gone missing, partly because he has been leaving the doors unlocked and unattended.

Why does keeping a metal shop have to be so complicated? Why didn't I listen to myself and pull out sooner, and spend that rent money on tools for my own space? Oh yeah, the genius bitched me out of that decision, though I don't know how.

I've done all I can for the place, which granted is very little, but there's been nothing left for myself. I'm glad that I'm moving. (/vent)

Turns out, painting is pretty fun.

For another hum-drum assignment for Basic Design, I salvaged a used canvas board and gesso'd the hell out of it, and bought a tube of that nice Heavy Body acrylic. Then I stared at them for about a week. Then during class I knocked out a painting, which took me about two hours. One of my friends is gonna be happy to have it.

After thinking for so long that sculpture is somehow easier than 2-D, I'm looking back at 2-D and thinking: it would be a CINCH to convince some cafe to display these. My scary pokey rusty sculpture, not so much.

Speaking of those, I spent my entire Saturday afternoon wrangling furniture in my living room in an attempt to get, if not decent, at least discernible pictures of my pieces. On my roomie's laptop I picked out some that seemed usable for my portfolio. When I got up and moved the laptop, it shifted the thumb drive I was working from (incidentally, don't do that, drag it to your desktop first), and the file I dropped them in vanished into nothingness, never to be seen again. Bye-bye, Saturday afternoon. I could have utilized you better by sorting out my dry goods (exciting!).

At least I know what to do Next Time. But if history serves, there won't be a next time for a long while. Anyway, most of the pictures were not maximum resolution, so. Yeah. They still looked ten times better than those of the aspiring photographer Will recommended. I may not be accepting his services, but I might ask to borrow his camera.

I figured out what to do with that yard of soft, shaggy, purple plush I've had around, and made a stole, which actually looks rather good with my blue rain coat.

Need to make lots of food and freeze it. Very busy. I hate that most of my day is gone from traveling back and forth.

Ups and downs, my friends.

So I approved my financial aid at PSU, simply because any other plans I may have considered are hazy at best. I still kinda like the idea of moving back to WA, unless by some miracle I'm excepted into some awesome school on the east coast. PAHAHAHAH!

In the meantime, Basic Design has been pretty good for my brain, and my productivity. Even if what I'm churning out isn't earth-shattering, I'm still out there in the garage at my drafting table, becoming addicted again to that other-world of making things. And I hesitate to admit, but the easy praise is welcome. Here's hoping it helps me to thrive, and not to settle.

Stormy relationshit has calmed for the time being, and I'm downright happy in that respect. The long-awaited good times are good indeed.

I marked last Thursday by going to the last Last Thursday of the summer with my friend/old roommate Fernando. Ate phad thai, looked at crappy art and some not-so-crappy art, it was nice. He drove me home so I could show him my new place. Shua and Dave talked his ear off about conspiracy theories and their speculations of Mexican government.

"They've already got flying machines that look just like saucers, I've been on one of 'em! And you wonder where all those U.F.O. sightings came from, right?"

Fernando's response didn't disappoint. "I think Star Trek." Leave it to him to render their self-entertaining sensationalism irrelevant.

After a few months of being treated like a criminal for trying to visit with friends in public places that serve beer, I finally got a replacement for my stolen I.D. Renewing my Washington Driver's License will have to wait; I require immediate alcohol to cope with school.

Okay, I swear I will not be on the goddamn computer past ten. I seem to have gotten hooked, again.

Today I broke a window. But it was my *first* window broken housepainting. (I did break one with my ass once when I was a kid... going down the bunk bed on the wrong side.) And this right after annoying my manager being late back from lunch. (I got LOST, seriously. And I still had to eat.) And this right after I'd spent two hours carving away the god-awful glazing job and making the window pretty. But it's not like I expected a tip, or to not be out of a job in a week (or less).

Perhaps the most ridiculous thing I've done for money thus far is vacuuming someone's lawn. I don't think I got half the paint chips, but the shop vac is nice and clogged up.

I desperately need to do laundry. I've been waiting weeks for an extra couple of bucks to buy soap. What I'm learning is, there is never an extra couple of bucks, there is only better skill at prioritizing the ever-present bills, and putting something off so you can spend money on shit you don't "need." After spending the entire summer not having any fun because of the lurking thought of unpaid bills, after seeing friends fly away to Burning Man and stone carving symposiums, and after experiencing far too much pleasure from the simple indulgence of eating out at a cheap diner, I figure doing something for myself before school hits is in order.

Maybe just buying a scrap of steel, or some trifling 1/8" cutting bits so I can finally break in my still-in-the-box $400 Foredom, the only major tool investment I've made in years, and the last time I've had any money to spend, really (last spring).

After last night/morning's word purge and peering deeply into the toilet bowl of the psyche before flushing (sleeping), I feel significantly less burdened in my step and a little more alert in my surroundings. That doesn't mean I don't get mistaken for a homeless bum when I take the train downtown to work, having not been home for days, smeared with paint and metal-filing filth, a rat's nest in my hair, greedily munching potato chips from my canvas bag full of survival gear. I've been spending evenings at the Watershed again, and it offically feels like a second home. Here is my leftover steak and beer in the fridge, internet, and the Brahm Stoker's Dracula pinball game being played just outside. But before hitting the metal shop, I must internet some more.

Oh, yes. A couple weeks back I was painting a house in the Alice neighorhood in Beaverton, with its fancifully-themed street names. Down Mad Hatter Drive, past Cheshire Court, just before Wonderland Park, the one house with the picket fence and crowds of enormous flowers on Tea Party Circle. The daughter who lived there was very loud and active, she laughed and smiled, revealing large buck teeth, which were the only ones she had left on top. I realized today that she was the March Hare!

The house really did look a bit like the preview for Tim Burton's upcoming movie. Except I'm rather appalled by the preview, though I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's Wonderland overexposure-- do those themes really need yet another re-vamping? Is there nothing more bizarrely philosophically wonderful under the sun? I sincerely doubt my childhood hero in his reminiscing retirement years is going to capture that otherworldly mystery. It'll be another practice in computer geeks' capacity to render textures and colors and contrived CG expressions. And I'm rather tired of the naive art school kid-with-computer-skills' view on a world that is fresher and more wonderful than they seem to know.

And I am not bitter.

There are two versions of this post. One just for me, and one for you! The one for me is a lot of miserable ranting which I've essentially worked out for the time being. At least the moustache gives me a new meaning to riding the handlebars.

I've been reading occasionally, which is the best pickle I know of for writing. You want to get your word in. So let me be positive for a moment. Today my manager leveled with me a bit more, not the usual "College Pro Rocks" front. He bought me lunch, which was pretty awesome of him. I am glad he took a chance on me and found me work. I've been awfully grouchy about my fate this summer, spent mostly worrying about money and not having a spare nickel to have any fun. At least house painting (when I can get it) has given me some much-needed confidence boosting. It's nice to not completely suck at everything I do.

And though I'm approaching a stopping point, I'm happy to be organising and working in the metal shop, even if I can't pay rent there. There's not really a good reason to have me "evicted," and if there were, I don't have much to move out. On the one hand, I never see anyone else come in to work, or clean, or build things. I've stopped worrying about them caring about what I do there.

I'm closing my internet account at home, since I don't have a working computer anyway. Why the hell have I been paying two thirds of it for months? Because I'm allergic to money.

You fret, and you worry, then you realize the world isn't ending just yet. I'm in an unsatisfactory relationship. It's cost me a lot of drama and energy I couldn't afford, me knowing full-well that's what I had in store when I took it on. I'm not hoping that it will work out. I just think it would be cool if we could be close without me bearing the brunt of his never-endingly Tragic Life.

It would be refreshing to hang out with someone who is occasionally happy-- even if they're not as deeply poetically beautiful as this ancient, dark, well-tended Irish-Ukrainian soul.

Our only welding table has a sound and solid 1/4" steel top, screwed onto wooden legs. Thusly, the table is not grounded, so when the MIG current runs through it, it magnetizes all the metal tools on the table. This may seem cool until you get tired of picking metal filings off of your tools when you want to use them.

Even so, I am too terrified to give the welding table its steel legs and make another work bench out of the wooden part. The metal shop is still kind of a disaster, and there's no place to put anything. On the chalkboard I drew myself as a confused eskimo named Dumbitch who asks silly things like, "Do we have all the permanent electrical outlets we need? Have we agreed on a floor plan yet?" I'm still just getting up to speed.

Should I just start shifting these conduits around in anticipation of buying outlets and boxes, or keep the extension cords nailed to the walls? Shut the fuck up, Donnie.

My house painting job has turned into door-to-door cold calling. I want to drink myself senseless. This is the first time in my life I've felt dependent on alcohol to cope.

I want to be back in school and learn beautiful things. But I may not be eligible for for all the financial aid I'll need. Which I'm sort of okay with, because 1) I'm not all that impressed with PSU, and 2) they'll be charging me $500 per credit. This is me, not too bummed about the prospect of skipping that bullshit.

Okay, that's enough complaining for today. I was gonna tell you about the willie nelson guy on the bus, or the intense Mexican with the gatorade bottle full of brown recluses, and how I had nightmares about his intentions for them. I could rant some more about relationshit, but it's rather nonexistent enough that I should be able to survive.

Alright. Beer time.

So hungry. Should probably get more serious about stocking up foodthings at Watershed, for these long weekends. So far I've managed to make eggs in the toaster oven, with various condiments found around the building, including a side of green chilis from someone's pizza, leftover fake pepper jack slices from some barbecue, and a bit of chicken I brought over. It seems that what I prefer to do most at this place is MacGuyver some kind of food into existence, more so than sculpting.

Even so, I've spent like 48 hours so far making a piece of shit sculpture out of styrofoam for the iron pour happening at OMSI.... right now. In fact, they're probably pouring hot metal right this minute, but two of us are still here scrambling to pack our pieces in sand. I'm thinking it'll be pretty awesome. Making things is all about hating your piece until the last minute when you realize you've got something to show for your time spent, even if it's not all you dreamed it would be.

The last couple of days have had me at a crossroads, yet again, about what I want to go on doing. There's this sculpture thing that is being offered to me, which I'm not always wildly enthused about honestly, then there is a life of doing something besides sculpture, but specifically what I still have no idea. It seems that I'm not really well-suited for anything else, especially now that I'm pushing thirty. My best shot at doing something of any remote significance before my time passes appears to be sticking to art things. And at this point, any alternative is really not that enticing, or even solid or secure. There's no way I can conceive of being successful at something more "sensible." As I grasp my limitations in life, all those words of caution my folks gave me seems all the more irrelevant as my limited potential for success in doing things I hate reveals itself.

Well, shit, I forgot I need to make a pour cup, so I better stop fuckin' around.

I've tried very hard to make some very strong wishes, like spells kind of. There's been a kind of evil floating around this house, it's been repelling visitors and making tenants very uncomfortable. I wished for the power to flush it out, wash it away.

So the other morning I woke up to the garbage truck coming by, and got up to make sure people had taken it out, which they hadn't, so I put two cans out like we're supposed to be paying for. It took some negotiation with the nice garbage man, but he took two cans of garbage. Just for thoroughness I made a point to hand-truck the old festering garbage from the back yard that had gone forgotten for months. It was full of rain water which had turned black and so foul that it almost made me throw up. It splashed all over the place, and I hosed down the places it soiled. The garbage truck had come back for some reason, and the guy actually came back and offered to cart this one away too! I told him we were supposed to be paying for two cans, but the guy he talked to on the phone said the home owner had to sign a form. Even though we're the ones paying for it. but because he was nice, he took it away, and there was much rejoicing in the home. Larz bought me another six-pack-- which is great because I still can't buy my own booze yet.

Anyway. A few hours later, I was in the back yard under the pear tree working on a bit of stone. My roommate came up and started venting to me about problems she'd been having with our other roommate, the troublemaker. It kind of solidified the notion that he's really not running the show, people are calling him on his bullshit, and I'm not alone in wanting to be rid of him. I intend to bide my time, and simply take care of the house however I can, hoping that good will prevail. I can't say anything more, lest I be labeled a "bad guy" to him. At worst, I can always couch surf again. It'll be nice not paying full rent and utilities for a while. I've only worked three weeks this summer so far.

My other most longed-for wish is that my friend could be happy. Whether with me or without me or alone, just be happy. That would be a load off my mind.

I'm a lot more stressed out when I'm not working than when I'm working. Thusly for the last week and a half I have become increasingly depressed. My manager essentially passed the buck to another manager who didn't realize he was supposed to be giving me work this week and last. I was so looking forward to being caught up on bills, too. Too much to ask, I guess.

Oh, buggre alle. Seems I posted my hours online a day late. Still hope I have enough to keep bills afloat. But I was counting on getting paid this friday-- CRAP.

I don't understand how I can keep so insanely busy that I don't have time for simple things like finding internet to frickin' post my hours. Catching a few hours' sleep at a time all week caught up with me as I helped D & Chris move out of their house this weekend. I was useless by 10:PM until early morning. Managed to help them get out by Saturday. Scored a lot of swag.

Working hard during the day seems to have the effect of making me want to keep on working. So this morning I ferried a mountain of past-tenants' crap from the basement to the Goodwill Donations Center two blocks away, with my bike. I cleaned the mold & leaves & sticker crud out of the mini-fridge Chris gave me til it sparkled, and put it downstairs.

Next phase of Workie Weekend should be commencing soon. There's supposed to be a contradictorily-titled "Work Party" at Watershed to get the bench room operational. Man it's steamy in here. But AC is for people who are afraid to sweat.

At least I have food stamps. Knock on wood.

I had a dream last night that someone in my life was maliciously trying to sabotage me. I couldn't figure out who would have such a strong dislike towards me that they would bother to do that.

But honestly, despite things like losing my wallet, being broke and house politics, I've been really happy lately. Being employed works wonders for my morale. So does creating distance with volatile relationships.

My sister came through town from our parents' and spent the night so we could have a day hanging out in Portland. I had a quasi-party at my house in the evening, then we breakfasted at Bread & Ink, browsed the lovely shops on Hawthorne, hiked in flip-flops to the Japanese garden, dined at Kennedy School, then she took me downtown to meet my friends and cruise the bars. Though Steve said my house is quite awesome, nobody felt like going back for the "real" party, after my roommate's drunken behavior the night before. I won't go into it, it's so outrageous that it hardly needs venting about. I'm just gonna let that guy run wild (with his shotgun) until the others decide whether they want to keep him in the house.

So hang-out time is still happening, I'll catch up with this stuff later. Not having a working computer sucks.

I started house painting this week. So far it proves to be the first job I really can tolerate. I'm stronger now than I was two years ago when I did it last, and shlepping those ladders (especially the dreaded 40 footer) was agonizing, and nobody understands that when you're the only chick on the team. But I got a kick out of frolicking on a yuppie couple's rooftop, tied to a harness, pretending to be a sailor. Risking your neck is all in a day's work. It was all I could do to keep from singing shanties into their windows while challenging death to remove masking tape.

I thought I heard the old man say
It's a long hard pull to the next pay day.
It's growl yer may an' go yer must,
It matters not whether yer last or furst!

The College Pro Painters system feels a lot more McDonalds than my last experience-- ruthless competition to be the fastest, most efficient and artificially friendly to the Almighty Customer. I have never been able to thrive in that environment-- for better or worse, I'm an unsmiling grouch who works slowly and meticulously. But this time, I seem to be keeping up and not miserable.

Add to my latest list of catastrophes my purse getting stolen while I nodded off on the train home. This time someone actually used my debit card a few times, and I've been making phone calls all day to correct the matter. At this point I'm so used to owing money for things I don't benefit from, I hardly think it makes a difference whether I'm being shaken down by The Man or just a stranger on the bus.

But, enough bitching. I feel more at ease since I'm not spending every waking moment worried about job searching. It feels like I have time, for the first time in a long time. It's mainly being spent playing music. I need to meditate. And sleep.

So my bipolar alcoholic roommate is trying to kick me out of the house. Or, at least, out of my bedroom so they can put someone in who can pay rent. It is suspected to be a vindictive move for my vouching to give him a month's notice, or for having a problem with his drinking. Very mature.



My prospective house painting manager has been very flakey, communication with him has shifted from "I'll call you tonight when I've got the paperwork ready for you" to "You can start working in two weeks" to "Oh, I thought you were working for that other guy." Kids these days!



Even temping these days has become aggressively competitive. I was a hair late for my orientation at Labor Ready. I'll try again tomorrow morning.



I'm applicable for food stamps, but I need some proof of paying rent. Problem is, I'm still not on the lease and can't afford the application fee at this time. I'm pretty hungry these days. Thankfully, Chris took me grocery shopping a while ago, but food stamps would still be handy.



Um. N's beard is pointy!! (He looks like a Jesus ragdoll in this shot. Or probably always.)

Update on me: hell of a lot more relaxed and satisfied than I have been in weeks, maybe months. Today might not have yielded massive productivity as far as money goes, but good things can come from spending the day in bed, too.

I feel a lot of my relationship issues lately aren't really romantic, though it's easy to put it in that box. The issue is constantly being around someone who is very angry and stressed out all the time. With those conditions I either need some space to get centered on my own, or the presence of people who are easy-going and relaxed. I haven't had quite enough of either, these days. So right around finals week, I was all but completely burnt out, and the stress just kept coming.

Right now, aside from chewing my nails off til I hear the verdict regarding school, all I need to do is convince my roomies I'll be good for rent later in the month. I've resolved that if for whatever reasons another month goes by and I still have no income, I'm as good as homeless again. Which I don't mind so much, except I have all this STUFF that will also be homeless. But that is a really ridiculous scenario. The Economy Crisis is nothing new, and I know how to get employed.

Now it's 1:30 AM and I'm welding, Christin's spray painting, Kirk is grinding, N is fixing the roll-up door. Oh, and there's a party going on. Shrug.

Five dozen eggs lasts so much longer when you have other things to eat! But thank god potatoes are so diverse. A soggy sandwich may not be a ray of sunshine, or even of hope, but it's a notch above empty-bellied hopelessness.

Though my shiny dreams for this house are somewhat tarnished, I still have to feel fortunate. Sure, the artists that drew me to this meth-ridden neighborhood have moved out, but that's more work space for me. Sure, my newish roommates are motivated by various chemical habits, but they're well-intentioned and generous with their softer stash.
So my financial aid is in jeopardy, but I know in my heart of hearts that I must be slightly better than a common criminal and perhaps they won't send the hounds after me if I play my cards right.
The manager of this job I'm allegedly employed in (starting next week? ish?) is really vague and uncommunicative, and it'll be at least three weeks before I see a paycheck (if I AM in fact employed), and bussing to effin' Gresham every morning to a different location each week is inevitably gonna suck balls, but I know housepainting beats the hell out of a fast food job, even if it were right down the street.
Both my laptops aren't working and the owner of the computer I'm using right now is very touchy about what sites I visit, but hell, I have a means of perusing craigslist, retrieving numbers and emails, and I'm not paying for internet needlessly. He's right anyway, there's no good reason for me to be goofing off on Twitter or OKCupid. (I swear that's just a thing between me and a friend.)

I suppose this city and I never truly melded together, but I can't say that living here hasn't brought me some happiness. I always thought it was cute, but not commitment material. It's not really that cheap, that green, that artsy. People mistake Making Things for being an artist, Recycling for conscientiousness, and Cheaper Than California for cheap. If the Pearl District were what it was before the condos sprouted up, I could live here. But it's not. The culture that made it popular has been pushed elsewhere.

Maybe the problem is that I don't look for those dingey overlooked places people resort to to pursue something honest and beautiful and difficult. Maybe I do want too much to live by the cute boutiques and hip thrift stores, and be a part of that kitschy art scene rather than establish something from scratch. But it may also be that any spare cranny in Portland is being rented out to Californians looking to slum it in the wild and grungey northwest.

Am I too old to start something new? Perhaps. Mainly I just suffer the same case of life phobia that most folks have. Being broke and at wit's end can be fabulous at times. I'm gonna miss these days.

So long, Skeleton Key. I got to fondle you for a week or so before you skipped off to have adventures. Wish I could've shown you to the bronze casting teacher before you disappeared with the other key I made. Sigh. I only had five or six things to show. :) There will be new pictures, but later.

I'm in the mood to get better. But most likely I'm having a minor reprieve before shit hits the fan again. I need to do something about my bipolar alcoholic roommate. I intend to move eventually, and he'll need a month and a half warning, and he probably won't fare any better in another house with a new slew of roommates to deal with his talking their ear off at 2:00 in the morning while sitting on their bed. But at least it won't be my house that's made uncomfortable. It's a tough enough task for me to make this place a home for myself.

At least since finals week blew over, I've had time to assess things at the house. As I'm cleaning out the garage and turning it into a workshop, it's the one place that feels like it's truly mine. It's a good feeling. I've got all of my stones laid out on the shelves, waiting to be carved. I moved the door-and-sawhorses table out of the walkway, where it's been since my housewarming party. There's still a pile of other people's garbage to be dealt with, and since it's in the garage, it's formally my problem. I'm thinking about incrementally shoving it into the trash bins around Fred Meyer. "Shawshank Redemption" style.

The studio that extends behind the garage hasn't been used at all, so I took the couch from Larz's area and moved it into the basement. I went through the stack of old roommate's abandoned stuff and pulled out a VCR and one of the TV's that worked. We now have a "media room", which will be a blessing when the weather gets hot. All the roommates brought out their VHS tapes. None of them had seen or heard of "Baron Munchausen!" I finally got to watch "The Jerk."

Everyone claims to have a DVD player "somewhere," which prevents me from spending 20 bucks on one on Craigslist. Bah.

While looking for the name of my Student Painters manager two summers ago, I've been scouring my blog through '07. It's sort of sad. I used to be interesting and stoked about life. With the new archive feature of skipping days without blog entries, I could speed through the year and read myself disintegrating, getting sadder and less confident, until I come to the miserable wreckage that I am now. What excuses do I have?

But then again I always look at myself a few years back and see someone struggling against pessimism, and searching for some way to direct her passion, which is apparently abundant in there somewhere. I want to feel joy, but also with meaning behind it, some consistency.