(This is a Kai Ken, or 'tiger dog'....The next inevitable step towards utter asian-breed obsession. I've considered getting a 2nd dog, and this would be it. Cormac and Rosetti would be ever so happy together.)
Reader-san, I am a negligent jerk, and I'm so sorry if you've been frustrated in stalking me due to my inability to blog. That's right, Stalker. I know who you are and I refuse to cater to your needs and thank you for those nice translucent curtains, they really brighten up the living room.
It took me nigh 11 months, but I got into a masters program for illustration, so i am officially an art student. I'll be attending the Academy of the Arts in San Francisco in spring 2010. I leave Chicago in January.
These last few weeks of 2009, I'm packing, working two freelance projects (not to mention editing my mom's papers), setting up my financing for grad school, and hanging out with Pad before I move. It's a hectic time.
Now, for the record, Pad has never read this blog. It was his call and I appreciate the sentiment, although i'd be just as happy wwith him reading the blog. It's not a secret life, not too racy....my parents are computer literate, let's leave it there. He has, however, encouraged me to write lately. Write and draw and publish however I can. That, reader-san, is awesome. Pad, who will not read this, you are fucking fantastic to cheer me on the way you do.
It also turns out I'll be attending art school with Chris and Phil, and living in the same city as Elaine, Jenn, and Nathalie (soon?), all former WHS AP/IB classmates. I cannot describe how overwhelmed and grateful I am to have reconnected with my high school friends. Because, um, I spent a few years very deliberately trying to erase any memories of living in Utah. Casualties of this idiotic idea were thankfully few.
To explain, my sister died. I didn't blame Utah, but I did hate it, anything that reminded me of it, and to a certain extent anyone I knew when she was sick. I made an active effort to be open about the problem (eating disorders, like all nightmares, are much less scary when spoken aloud), and having sweet, loving friends, I was screwed.
They cared way to much to ignore my grief, and I wanted to burn it out and scatter the ashes. No processing, no making it feel better. At the time, apathy was damn appealing, and it's hard to go numb surrounded by people who love you. Kendra was the exception, everyone else I avoided or talked to only online.
Years later, my friends haven't said a damn word about it, bless their hearts. They responded to every clumsy email I managed to send out, they sought me out, they still loved me. I am crazy fucking lucky.
Now I get to live in a city with half a dozen best friends. YAY!
