Stuff, In No Particular Order:

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Went up to the City yesterday to see my friend Eric and his new house. Well, not so new: I guess he's had it for about a year. I didn't get to meet his partner, Wayne, but I did get to see a lot of Wayne's art. When Eric described Wayne to me and told me he was a really good artist, I thought (because, frankly, I tend not to be charitable) that Wayne was probably a talented artist, but not a really good artist--love does tend to cloud the mind.

Let me be clear on this: I was wrong. Wayne is a FANTASTIC artist. I loved his paintings, his drawings, his sense of style. He evidently was responsible for completely redoing the house when he moved in with Eric decorated the house. I want to buy one of his paintings. This is a total cliche, but I would want him to decorate my house. Eric's house was lush, luxurious, with furniture that stood out and said, "I am crafted, dammit, not made in some factory in Singapore." The kind of house adults have--Eric isn't a transient college student any more.

Wayne, by the way, has some paintings on display in a florist's shop on Castro. No, I don't remember which one, but it's on the western side of the street, about two blocks down off Market. Check 'em out.


I have both finals today: German (already taken at 9 this morning) and Lighting (take-home part already done, just have to do the in-studio part at noon).

I can't believe I'm starting school again in less than two months. Help. Help.


I spent a long time last night reading other people's diaries. Tracy's journal, i am becoming, is renowned for its frankness. She blithely describes things on-line I have a hard enough time mentioning in my own private journal. This should tell you quite a bit about both of us.

One of the reasons I was up so damn late was to drink tea with honey in order to soothe my throat and make it not so attractive to cough. Night before last I couldn't fall asleep and every time I coughed I got an annoyed noise from Darin, who usually can sleep through everything.

Of course, once I got into bed I found myself thinking, Now, don't breathe hard, that's it, ignore the tickle in your throat, nice and easy, breathe easy KOFF KOFF HACK. And the annoyed noise from the formless lump under the covers.

I didn't sleep much last night.


Today's interesting, self-revealing tidbit: I have come to believe that the reason I am so anxious all the time is because I find anxiety more socially acceptable than what I call the dark or "red" emotions (I don't know why I call them that, but they just seem to be in a category by that name): anger, hate, fear, passion, fury, lust. Rather than accept--and express--those emotions in myself, I turn them into anxiety.

Anybody know any good expressing-of-emotions exercises?

(Please don't point out that many of the emotions above also go under the heading of The Seven Deadly Sins. I know they do; I just don't happen to believe in the concept of sin any more. For those of you who didn't see Seven last year--and why didn't you?--let's recap: gluttony, greed, sloth, pride, lust, wrath, envy.)


Okay, let me reclarify the above: consciously, intellectually I don't believe in the concept of sin any more. But while you can take the girl out of the Church, the Church will let go of the girl when you pry its cold, dead fingers from around her throat.

Today's interesting, self-revealing tidbit, part II: I used to be a religious fanatic when I was little. I believed everything I was told in Church and in Catechism and in Religion class whole-heartedly. That's the great thing about growing up Catholic: you can believe six impossible things before breakfast. I started rebelling against it when I was 12 or 13 and started putting together the clues that the Church hates--openly and determinedly--women. It took a few years beyond that to state categorically that Christianity is a bunch of baloney.

I still look around for lightning when I say it, though.


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Last Updated: 26-Jun-96
©1996 Diane Patterson