“She’s growing straight lines
Where once were flowers
She is streamlined
She is taking the shade down
From the light” –Suzanne Vega, Straight Lines

I have been lying in bed for two hours now, staring at the ceiling and deciding that most people really drive me insane. I am imagining myself living inside of a cozy igloo, out in the middle of nowhere, with sled dogs and a fire. There would be stars and chocolates and bowls of steaming rice and I would never have to try to communicate with anyone in person ever again.

I know I haven’t been writing much, but life has kind of sucked lately and ever since that psychic told me that I would be getting a new job this year, I have been wide awake and anxious wondering what that means. Maybe she confused me with my dad.

Thank you for sending me Facebook messages and private texts wondering where my words have been. Your encouragement forced me to stop looking at the ceiling and wander over to my computer. My words have been in traffic, I guess. Weekends no longer exist and my nights are full of obligations … and woven in-between are lots of people and I am not quite sure what the universe is trying to show me, but it has something to do with the fact that if a million people were seated in a stadium, I would only like about three of them.

I have a low tolerance for ego. For data and statistics. For meddling parents. For crowded grocery stores and waiting in line and for toll booths. As I was driving to volleyball (yes, again) tonight I was thinking about this time I was in kindergarten and we had to tell the teacher what our favorite color was and I said black and before I knew what happened I was sent to the school psychologist because, apparently, it is not okay to like black when you are five. I am not sure why. I mean black is the color of patent leather shoes and licorice, the color of long, sexy hair and jellybeans. Anyway, I think the first time I remember seriously not liking a person was in that psychologist’s office.

I had this whole conversation with Lizzie this week, about how to stick up for herself and how, at the same time, to “fake it,” to play the game, to “cover her buttons,” so that others could not use her emotions to destroy her. I don’t know why I told her those things, when I should have just said, “Be you. Be as emotional as you want to be. Wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s okay.”

I think that I just wanted to protect her from ever being hurt and from ever knowing what it feels like to stare up at a blank ceiling and feel useless. I wanted to protect her from worry and from that nagging feeling that she was born to do something greater. I literally told her just to smile a lot and then no one has to know what she is thinking. Those words came out of my mouth. Good God. Reverse that.

So, yes, it is now impossible to sleep. I need to continue manifesting a studio for myself because it seems that if I am not painting and drawing that my need to release my own worry and self doubt translates into horrible advice.

I need to wake up tomorrow with the mantra, “I open.” I open to possibilities, to perspectives that are different from my own. I open to change. I open to the people in my life who are currently being perceived as crazy, egotistical morons. I open to the idea that everyone has something to offer.

William keeps telling me (he got this from some movie) that “an angry mind is a narrow mind.” I guess I will go back to bed and imagine my angry mind melting. I will imagine all the pretty black things I can muster and I will open myself up to the girl deep inside of that castle wall, who thought that was an okay answer in 1975.

If that doesn’t work, I will build the igloo.