Wave Report

I couldn't go a whole month without posting. I've been away, busy, depressed, whatever. Plus, they are jackhammering outside of my apartment and my beautiful backyard looks bombed out and depleted. In my brain, I've given the whole less-than-peaceful-in-my-own-home thing a month. It's all about September 1: the apartment repairs should be complete (outside plus the downstairs floor which has half a moldy carpet and an open sewage drain), and school starts again. It's been a summer of tidal waves, none of which are actually comprised of water. One day I'm baking in the sun in a affordable-but-cute-as-hell baby doll dress, drunk at 4:30 PM, listening to a great band (for free) at McCarren Park with various and sundry lovely and festive friends, loving summer in the city. The next I'm so depressed I'm nearly incapable of figuring out how to possibly feed myself since I keep all of my food in the kitchen and not within reaching distance of my bed. One day I'm talking about ideas and love and Edith Piaf and traveling to Peru with a gaggle of beautiful and well-toned people who happen also to be above-average cooks and funny. The next I'm watching a Hey Paula marathon and wondering if it's still weird to cry on the phone to your mother when you are 33 years of age.

But such is life. How boring would it be, otherwise? I'm learning, slowly but surely, to harness these floods of emotion into my work, not to be torn down by them like an inexperienced boogie boarder in the surf. Wish me luck...