7/23/26 - 7/25/26: Making goblets, misting my plants daily, and trying not to have a panic attack

7/23/26

I taped these felt eyes onto a pair of glasses I never use. This is my lazy Halloween costume I'm calling very alert person who's had way too much caffeine:

I randomly stumbled across a new cannibal movie last night while embroidering a painting I'll never finish.

This is how I've been feeling: like I make art too slowly. I have a mixed-media painting hanging up right now called Messed up in the head that I've been working on since January. The person I'm making it about has possiblyprobably already forgotten about me (yes, possiblyprobably is a new word I indeed just created). The feelings are still there for me, though so I'll be able to finish it just fine. I feel my feelings slowly and fully. And I suppose my caffeine addiction probably butts heads with how naturally slow I make art. That, plus living inside capitalism's obsession with mass-production and asinine belief in the slogan time is money. Honestly, time AND money can go fuck themselves.

Okay, back to the cannibal movie: What I've never seen in this genre of movie is the cannibal making it out alive and living a full cannibal life. Poor cannibal. Anyway, I was thinking this movie could also be advertised as a documentary called Charlize Theron's First Free Solo: Escaping a Cannibal. (Side-note: If I was an actor, getting cast as the cannibal would be my dream role.) (Second side-note: If someone ever asks me why I exercise I'll say obviously so I can survive, or rather, not get eaten, if a cannibal is ever after me. Whenever I'm watching a cannibal movie I'm always hoping that the cannibal's possible meal has done extensive cardio beforehand, otherwise they'll never make it.) 

I don't  know how to explain this sinking feeling that is pooling with hope and possibility around the edges but is also laden with utmost negativity. It's a strange feeling in my stomach. Loneliness, depression, and fear always sit with me nowadays. I am looking investigatively at what is absent in my life. What's not is a goblet. I'm in my ceramic goblet phase and I'm happy to be here. While evil people try to bring coal to Oakland and the power-hungry pedophiles in charge of the world are trying to destroy it without remorse, I'm just here making goblets, misting my plants daily, and trying not to have a panic attack.

I get so anxious about any sort of new relationship with another person. Especially friendships. I overthink it, want it to work too badly, say stupid shit, etc.

I feel myself minorly getting into this chill-as-fuck state of mind. And then it passes. But it's there, at the ready, not quite fully formed, yet aggressively wanting to be robust.

7/25/26

It seems random what coping mechanisms just stop working out of the blue. Cutting my hair in times of emotional distress is not going to cut it anymore and I hate that it won't. I've loved cutting my hair off after a breakup, or after a serious, life-altering diagnosis of a close family member. Hair cutting has always been my go-to in times of stress.

They didn't let me continue to get to know them. They said they wanted me in their life no matter what and that I made them feel free and safe and inspired and I only wanted to keep making them feel this way but it all disintegrated. They opened up my life in a way that's hard to describe. There was an instant joy and comfort in their presence. I thought how lucky I was to have met them. The ease of him and I was uncanny. The obliteration of this connection still elicits a sadness I've felt since January. 

I like that I have make a French-fold mini zine on my to-do list. It feels like one of those things I won't be able to stop doing once I get into it.