‘This project is never-ending!,” it dawned on him as he stitched together a crane slowly and without enthusiasm this Saturday morning.
“Why?,” he asked.
Date: November 22, 2014
Days Spent on Project: 642
Location: NW Portland, OR
Person I would have sent it to: Dr. Greist.
When I was in high school, I suffered– like so many teenagers do– from severe acne.
(That’s embarrassing to write on the Internet.)
I started, perhaps after guilt-tripping my parents, going to her in my sophomore year… when it got to a point when I was just so aware of it and humiliated by it. And so, Dr. Greist prescribed a series of drugs that proved effective in clearing up those problems. A pill every day for a year (!) and all that pesky business evaporated and suddenly I had clear skin again.
Perhaps I was being, like many high schoolers before me, a little overdramatic about the situation. But, I do remember never wanting to take off my shirt in public, never wanting my shirt collars to droop too low in the back, for this very reason. (I suppose it’s interesting how something so “everyday” as a pimple or blemish or a swamp of them can alter a person’s confidence or self-perception so effectively. Have teenagers been preoccupied with this since humans started to socialize?)
Having that issue taken care of during my sophomore year in high school felt like a turning point. I do believe a bridge can be said to have appeared at the halfway point in my high school years. I was finding a more solid group of friends, I was becoming more confident in who I was and the groups I wanted to be a part of, and then I ultimately found Theatre (warts and all, Theater and I have been together for such a long time… when you think about it).
I don’t specifically connect that confidence and that growth to getting clear(er) skin, but it certainly helped.
Music I listened to while sewing: Silence.
Thoughts/Feelings behind the block: Perhaps it’s that I have another weekend of tech rehearsals ahead of me for shows where the costume needs are minimal and also known. Perhaps it’s that I’m realizing that the goal is to do as little work as cheaply as possible. Perhaps it’s because I’m learning there isn’t really a “team” working together.
I’m just not feeling it today. I’m just not.
Perhaps it’s life envy of all my friends back east. Perhaps it’s that I feel like no matter what I do here, it doesn’t matter. I’ll only be told: “no money” or “you can’t do it” or “we’ve always done it like this.”
Or sometimes I’m just not responded to.
I read today online that scientists have trained dogs to sit still while an MRI can scan parts of their brains while they’re allowed to sniff various scents and listen to various sounds. Long study short, dogs apparently (biologically proven now!?) react more intensely to humans than other dogs, and there’s a bred dependence and connection to humans. Dogs inherently react to us as family, as being a close group.
They’re even stating that they react to our emotions and moods.
I’m wondering if The Dog’s slight melancholy here in Portland is a reaction to me and how I’m reacting to Portland.
It would explain a lot.