On poetry, art, and why my blog is wack-tastic right now.

So I tried (am trying?) to get a custom domain to update my blogger address to just 'TodayIWroteNothing dot com' and now, four days later, the domain is still marked as 'not found,' and now my blog is all screwy. Apologies to those who have told me they've had trouble leaving comments--I'm sorry! (Notably because I need comments to survive.)  (No, really.)

Now I'm going to compose a little poem about how this whole ordeal has made me feel:

Ode to My Custom Domain

I tried to get a custom domain
Only ten dollars, they said!
But now it turns out to be super lame
I should have just stayed in bed.

See if I try to upgrade again
It's been nothing but a big mess
I'm going back to the good old days
When whether to bathe was my only stress.

Thank you.

And now for something that makes me happy happy: the drawings I received to use for my homework! I know what you're thinking as you scroll through the below: 'Sharona, that it way better than anything you could ever produce.'

Katymylove drew this log(superfluous hyphen)cabin. I had NO idea that all this time she was hiding such mad skunk-drawing skills. And Katy, if you ever decide to retire as an opera singer, you should DEFINITELY consider architecture.

OMG WILD CARD!! This is from Maria, my new favorite Kansas-City-ian. It is 'a human, a book, and a treasure box.' All of my favorite things! Maria, * you * * complete * * me *

And last, but not least...it's Lealea's picture! Well, okay, not * really * Lealea as much as her friend Anna, who can wield crayolas like nothing I've ever seen. I don't know WHY my art teacher didn't put those on our supply list as a rightful medium.

Ladies, your prizes are on their way! My drawing teacher is going to be so proud...

Also, I bought bacon.

On our way to the Modern Pantry for dinner! Today was nice: the sun broke through the clouds, a walk was taken, a pumpkin was picked out at a street market stall. A friend in town--notably an adventurous one--makes everything new.

I'll show you mood diary.

I'm currently stalling on a load of homework for my drawing class, which is both labor-intensive and slightly too abstract for my puny, literal brain to interpret. We're to do strange, impenetrable things like 'observe' and 'respond' to things, but using our sketchpads. Like THAT makes sense. I'm more likely to tell you how I feel about something using interpretative dance than I am with a colored pencil. So I sit here with a giant blank pad in front of me, and the instructions to 'respond to a daily news story' and create a 'mood diary,' and I have NO idea what any of this means.

Some (small, fleeting) part of me recognizes that these sorts of assignments are intended to inspire creativity--you know, the less specific the instruction, the more freedom you have--but I worry that what I'm producing is all wrong, that I've totally missed the point. I'm not looking to create the Mona Lisa here, but I would at least like to know that smearing black paint all over this page in an angst-filled response to the news of 'tube strike' gets me a few points. I can't get a bad grade in this class; bad grades aren't what I do. I graduated top of my class in high school and college; I cannot fail a class in which we are instructed to make shoes out of cardboard.

And the strangest thing is that while I'm struggling here, the slackers in my class--the ones who won't do ANYthing until the tutor is standing directly over their shoulder demanding it--under supervision produce works of brilliance. Their sketchbooks blossom under their sullen hands, their one sketch outshining my forty in five short seconds. I'll see something that they've begrudgingly produced and be like, 'Oh, THAT'S what we were meant to be doing this whole time!' as I slide my arm over my drawing of a stick man beating a bus with a bat. A bat that looks like a penis, which isn't as much symbolic as accidental.

Now if you'll excuse me, I should get to work on this 'mood diary.' Capture THIS using nothing but color:

Dear chair: I still don't want to be your friend, but maybe you're not entirely deserving of death

I'm slowly forgiving the chairs for their terrible, atrocious behavior last week. We're healing somewhat; making tentative friends. Not CLOSE friends, mind you. But we can say hi on the street now and it feels okay. The second years and third year in my group gave Aya and me some invaluable tips and the difference in our construction was like night and early morning.

In other related news, I have a school friend! Her name is Aya and she's from Japan and I love her. She's tiny. Like even by Japanese standards tiny. (She told us so.) And she's teaching me Japanese. So far I know the words for rhino, elephant, and bee. Apparently I'm headed for some sort of Japanese safari. Look how fantastic she is. This is her ALL THE TIME:

Aya-ya! Guess how old she is? You'll never guess.

This is another one of my new favorite people! You can call her Dom--it's short for Dominique, or Dom-Dom. She has got the greatest little English accent and she's about as tiny as Aya. It's like I'm collecting people that can fit in my pockets. She is also HYSTERICAL. Look at that face and tell me it's not someone who knows how to have fun:

I've got to jet now--it's the first time all week I've been able to make dinner before 9 p.m. and I am THRILLED. And maybe--I don't know, I don't want to go crazy here--I may even sit on the couch and watch the TELEVISION. I know, I know. I'm losing control. 

Big hugs and talk to you soon!
Esssss

P.S. I've got a small job for the weekend! I'll be doing some marketing at my local taqueria's food kiosk at the London Restaurant Festival! I knew eating all those burritos would pay off...

Dear chair: I hate you.

Having received no instructions, tips, or materials for model-making, two other first years and I tackled five miniature chairs this afternoon. Armed with nothing but toothpicks and some stolen wooden coffee stir-sticks from the cafeteria, we then went crazy with glue, fishing line, and tape. I'm not gonna lie when I say that what I have created is both shameful and pathetic. I won't hesitate to scrap them when this project is over (versus my usual sentimentality for all handicrafts however poor or sad), and I won't be lying when I say that I can very well see myself only designing furniture in the future than can be created with a bit of cardboard and a dowel-rod. Everything I do for the next three years will be some variation of a cardboard bench with legs. And shoot, maybe sometimes I'll leave the legs off. 'Modern functionality,' I'll say haughtily, throwing my hair over my shoulder. 'I do hope you are astute enough to understand what I've done here.' 

We have an art class this Thursday (perhaps that is where they will teach us to build these models?) and the list of supplies we need (blue tac, thin thread, and a scalpel, among other things) leads me to believe that we might be building traps for small animals or perhaps practicing some minor surgery. That would be useful given the injuries I received today using dull scissors and a thousand rubber bands.

Yes. I used rubber bands to make my chairs.

I don't want to talk about it.

I'm taking my first break of the week (I know, I know, it's only Tuesday, but I DREAMT about chairs last night, so it feels well-deserved) and heading off to book club now. I didn't finish the book, but I did flip to the end to find out how it finished. So I feel pretty prepared. 

More tomorrow, I hope!

Hugs big hugs,
Esssss

On my first week back to school

Have you ever stood on the edge of a surf and felt sure in your footing when a wave roars in and WOOSH! You're somehow fully in the water and struggling to regain your balance? That's what this week is like, and it's only Tuesday morning.

My University courses began yesterday, and so far it's CRAZY. Crazy AWESOME. But crazy-busy. Wave-crazy. I'll write more on it when I'm not racing off to dress/catch the bus/sprint late into my first class.

Big hugs love and see you soon-soon!
Essssssssss