Decisions. I have been so much about decisions of late. Eg: I can choose to not make this a big deal. I can decide to view this through a different lems. I choose to push the buttons I know I shouldnt. 

i have been barraded by these moments since deciding to live my life as a sober lady. I do find it interesting to see how I think about problems has changed. I need to do this thing I dont want to, how can I make it semi palatable. 

I am testing the boundaries and finding out what shoe will drop and why.  And how does naivete play into this? I can make a choice and that choice can/will have a ripple effext. Where are my lines in the sand, or clay?

It's a lot. And I find what I am facing has so many complexities that involve my gut and my intelligence and my needs amd wants. What is it you ask??? A smorgasbord of conflicting info!!! Huzzah!  Anyway, sleepy now. Will write more soom!

xoxo me

Thar was actually a pretty acurate write up. I still feel like I am tip toeing on eggshells, wandering in the interstitial space, parading in purgatory. How do I find a way to balance everything without throwing myself off balance, feel bad about the misteps and mistakes that I am reponsible for, and harm my identity and strength? How can I be me and work to stay strong me without letting myself get steamrolled in the process? And not be an unforgiving bitch if I stand up for myself and have trouble wiping a slate totally clean, it may be erased but a residue or patina does linger? (A guy just won a car on wheel of fortune!!!!๐Ÿ˜„๐Ÿ˜„๐Ÿ˜„) 

I do go through life joyously. Perhaps that seems naive and childish, but it is me. Why not have fun with this life? Why not try to use lenses that lighten rather than darken? A friend has worried that I am too optimistic, but I figure that if its a question of laughing or crying I'd rather laugh. I try not to portray how hard I work and how scared I am. I dont want people to look at me and say: "oh what a poor girl. She had a bad injury (car winner just spun a dollar!!!!) went to art school and became an alcoholic who is now living with her parents. Man, she was such a lovely promising girl. Now she's looking like a sad old lady. What will happen to her when her parents are gone and can't support her? " Id rather rephrase the end to "but she seems to really be flowering and enjoying life. I cant wait to see what she makes of herself. Her parents must be so proud of how she's done a 180." Trust me, I get it what it easily can look like. I am living with a silver spoon in my mouth and able to start my own art business because my parents are being the unnoficial backers of this venture and providing what is in essence an out patient living situation in which my sobriety is the priority. I get that there are people who will tell their kids not to be like me. Or look at me with pity. Or look at me with contempt for getting to live a posh life after having oh so royally fucked it up. Or that my dreams are way too idealiatic and talented as I may be Im just not a-one, top shelf, gold leaf mayerial. Im just a cracked up clay covered neurotic artist who tries to make the world a better and happier place. 

If I let all of this affect me negatively I couldnt raise my head, straighten my spine. So I am working to not bottle this and repress it, but channel it however I can to do what I can.  

The shitty thing is I do feel. I am trying to get better about owning my feelings and feeling my feelings and accepting them. It is so hard. As I dont want to turn into a permanent wheeping violin I don't share how every art rejection I get breaks my heart just a little, or lot. How I have to be able to dream that it could work and could be the next best thing to sliced bread. It could be reinventing the wheel. I have to dream all of these things to get the application out the door. I have to believe. And then accept that it just isnt the case and have my heart ache and move on. 

I have often been told or led to believe that my feelings are silly. Not valid. Creating something out of nothing. Mountain out of a mole hill. Or that my feelings and fears make people uncomfortable. My brain essentially had a period that lasted for a few weeks and no one likes a bloody tampon (woman just won a car!!!! ๐Ÿš— ๐Ÿ˜„๐Ÿ‘). So I build walls. Strong walls. Near impenetrable walls. And I am trying to lower them. And by lowering them even a hair I am a sensitive live wire that is easily agitated and can shock quickly. I wont apoloize for it, but say I am trying to work on it. To fix that. But am fearing that it is something thay I will add to my list of attributes I lack.

God, I don't even know what point I am trying to make. I am tired. I am so tired. Im sick of faking it. Im sick of trying to look at the bright side. Im sick of worrying about health care, art, success, unexpected turns in th the road. Im sick or worrying that I am just not good enough.

So I have written todays blog. I dont have a funny quip to end this with regarding the squirrel who now resides outside my studio window with whom I have developed a Beateix Potter-esque relationship. Someone once said something about the silly stories I make up being an important part of me. That I make up some stuff. Perhaps that is the honest thing about me. I lie creatively well. 

I guess the good news is I am on the path to 9 months of aobriety. And dont plan to drink today. I made the commissioned piece for my mom this morning. And will keep on the path Ive started and fake it until I dont have to. 

Christina Osheim