When there is no beginning and no end in sight

The skin on my forehead is heavy and sore, there is pressure just behind my ears, my muscles in my neck are in military salute - upright, tense and showing no emotion. My eyeslids are lead sheets dragging, even scratching, against my eyes. My body is exhausted but my mind, oh my mind (!!!) she carries on between days and nights in a dimension where time is not linear nor does it exist within the confines of mechanics.

I can feel the presence of an outside source of energy quite literally pushing and pulling and dragging me from one idea to the next. From this project to that, constantly working, thinking, drawing, writing, sketching, planning, rethinking, imagining, problem solving, designing, reworking, wondering, dreaming, questioning, erasing, redoing, finishing and moving on. And this is just the beginning... but when did this all begin??

To think of myself as an artist has always felt largely pretentious and certainly uncalled for. For reasons that are obvious to me but I will mention anyways are the simple fact that I've never pursued it seriously, never thought I should pursue it seriously, definitely never thought I was talented enough (I still question this reason/doubt) to pursue it seriously and never knew exactly where to put my energy. So, I did what most people with creative tendencies do: I hightailed it to the opposite side of the spectrum and got a diploma in Community Rehabilitation (disability studies).

I've spent most of my life NOT doing anything creative (specifically art related), working totally odd jobs (barista, motor vehicles specialist, youth worker, server, data entry clerk, teacher's assistant, platform loader [which meant I was also a certified forklift operator], landscaper, volunteer coordinator, education specialist [eep!] and a lifeguard. Heh.. I wasn't a lifeguard. Just seemed fitting. As I thought to include it, at first it made me laugh (out loud a little) but then I saw the sheer terror in the little swimmer's eyes, mine included. A dangerous situation for all parties. I don't even know how to dive! And I still wear water wings.

No I don't. I digress.

Art and all things related have always felt totally daunting to me. And as I've been thinking about it a lot lately I've come to believe or understand or just realize that I never pursued it because I was more fearful of the people already pursuing it than worried about what skills I had to offer. Does this make sense? Por ejemplo: in 2002, at the ripe old age of 21 (almost 22) I got accepted into the Alberta College of Art and Design (ACAD). Even as I type those words I get excited and surely remember how excited I was to get in! I had two weeks to pack up and go. And off I went. Long story short I only got through almost two years (a few classes short I'm sure) and only made two friends at ACAD. One of which got mad at me days after the last day of the school year. She moved back to Ontario a few days later and I never heard from her again. The other, still a dear but distant friend, who I only befriended ON the last day of the same day I defriended the other friend. HAH! What I said totally makes sense!! It does! What I'm trying to say is that I was so incredibly shy and terrified to be among so many cool and hip young people that I shrunk. And as a result didn't make very good art and then stopped altogether. I think it was also that I just didn't know what was what and who was it and where was up and how to get down. I was the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

Fast forward eight years (gross. Did I just say that?) and I can see so clearly, so mother effing clearly what that all was. So that if I was that girl (me) now but taking part in then, I would have BEEN a part of that without trying or thinking or wanting. It would have just been, as it were. Me and art and design and school and young artists and all the fun in between (I think my favourite part of ACAD was smoking in the back stairwell. What other recognized post-secondary instituion in Canada would just let you smoke in the stair well? There may be a few but at that time, in my completely naive world, it was the coolest thing since bedazzling).

A n y w a y s.... I'm here and I'm in some kind of crazed obsession to create. To create anything and everything and to ensure that I get every single drip of an idea onto paper or type. Don't know why, don't know for what, don't know if this is anything more than just plain old losing my mind but I am running with it. Keeping up or at least trying. It's fun and the best part is I don't need anyone else around to do it (it would be nice to have some company from time to time. Company that isn't an adorable kitten. That liked wine and cigarettes and laughing and... well, art). It also beats telemarketing. Believe it.

Call it what you will. Call me what you will (my best friend likes to call me crazy on a regular basis... but I know she means it with so much love). I will call it my life. My life as it is, right in this moment.