You know, this blog is forcing me to take a long look at myself and what I see isn’t exactly reassuring. It’s nothing new or revelatory, but somehow seeing it in black and white, day after day, makes it harder to ignore. What I’m talking about is my inability to focus, the way my mind seems to wander about like a bee in a field of clover. I honestly intend this blog to be about creativity, and to show you pretty pictures of things I make, but it seems that the days zoom by so quickly and half the time I’m not sure what is going on, and when I sit down to write—that’s what you get. Zero continuity.
It reminds me of this night, long ago, when a woman came over to my friend’s house who supposedly had the power to determine one’s season. Do you even know what I’m talking about? I think this was a phenomenon of the eighties—matching one’s skin tone to a seasonal palette of colors. Once you were matched up with a season, they injected you with a microchip and then if you ever strayed from your color palette, you were instantly vaporized by a bunch of gun-toting models from a Robert Plant video. Anyway, so this woman swooped in like Cruella de Vil, throwing color swatches all over the room. She took one look at my friend's mom and shrieked the word, “Spring!” right into her face. And my friend’s mom had to burn her entire wardrobe right then and there, and after that she never wore anything but the color peach.
The woman circled around the room (because it was kind of a little party, right?...like Avon on acid.), jabbing her long, red fingernail at cowering women and telling them to choose between burgundy or the firing squad. When it was my turn, her lips curled and her nose wrinkled slightly. She looked at me as if I was a mongrel puppy, tapped cigarette ash on my head, and screamed, “What? No spots?! Where are her spots?!” (wait—I slipped into the wrong story—let’s try this again) She looked at me and scowled. She held up swatch after swatch against my face--cobalt, lavender, maroon, all the jewel tones—but to no avail. She could not make a match. There was a huge clap of thunder and a flash of lightning, and she swept out of the room in disgust.
All I’m saying is maybe I should have known right then and there. Some people are Springs. Some people are Summers. If you’re lucky, you’re a Winter and then you get to wear black all the time. But some people are not so easily pegged. Some people don’t fit the mold. Some people can’t stay on topic for more than a sentence. And I’m not bragging about it, I’m not saying I’m so mysterious and unfathomable (or am I?). I’m just saying—three weeks into this blog and I know more about myself than I’ve learned in a lifetime. So if you don’t know what kind of person you are—start a blog. In about a month, you'll have all the information you need. And good luck to you then.
Just in case you thought I got distracted—I didn’t. Here is a picture of something cute I made.
