I Am Not Making An Ass of Myself
And other affirmations I tell myself in the wee hours of the night
I drew the damn skull. It almost killed me, but I did it. When the professor was talking to me about it, I started crying. I’ve always been one to race through art, especially regarding technical and art school art. As with most things, I'm learning that validation comes with the slow roll. The taking of time to do something right instead of scribbling it out in an hour. Finishing this project opened up a new world for me, taking my time and not feeling so manic about getting everything done ASAP.
This coincided with finishing my graduate school applications. I finished the last one (I think) Sunday night, and that did almost kill me. As soon as I hit send on the final application, this dark cloud of doom formed over my head and began raining down all sorts of fun statements LIKE YOU SUCK… YOU ARE TOO OLD… YOU ARE MAKING AN ASS OF YOURSELF. These same delightful refrains repeated over and over, seeping into my dreams and making me have nightmares about rattlesnakes and rising water.
The fact is, all of these fully-funded programs are highly competitive, only letting around four to seven students in a year. I also wanted to apply for nonfiction but didn’t get a manuscript together in time. Maybe I will light a fire under my ass over Thanksgiving, but I think if I don’t get in this time around, I could try again for nonfiction next semester, which apparently is slightly easier to crack. And the truth is, if no one wants to take a chance on an older lady like me, that’s fine. I’ll go back to doing some version of what I was doing before, and life will go on. Life will still be rich. Life will still be full. And I still have a manuscript to finish rewriting and start pitching. It won’t be the end of the world by any stretch of the imagination.
Last night, the fun continued with my least favorite recurring nightmare of all time. I’ve been having them in one version or another since I was 15 and first started dating. These illogical dreams where I am getting cheated on and then somehow get made an ass out of by whoever I was dating at the time and some random woman.
Man, oh man, it hurts. I know it comes from deep-seated abandonment issues stemming from my father leaving when I was young, and I’ll tell you, for me, it’s the worst feeling in the world. I get so angry and wounded in the dream that it spills over into my next day. But I’ve vowed that today, I am not going to let irrational and underlying anxieties get the better of me. I’m in the home stretch. Tomorrow is my last day in class before Thanksgiving because I am taking off to Florida for the funeral of my beloved great-uncle Richard, my grandmother’s brother.
Side note. He gave me the best advice when I got married. “There’s only one trick to a great marriage. Be considerate".” And for 20-plus years, I’ve heard him say that in my ear every day. Whether cleaning the dishes in the sink or making my husband iced tea when his jug runs out, Uncle Richard sits on my shoulder, reminding me to be considerate. But I’m sidetracking!
The point is that today is going to be a great day. I am kissing goodbye the insecurities of the past few weeks and getting on with it. There are still a few more weeks of school left. Papers to write. Exams to take. My final self-portrait in art class to finish. A turkey to smoke. A Christmas tree to decorate. People to love.
If I have proven anything to myself over the past few weeks is if I can get all the applications done, make a few crummy ceramics, work on a few quilts, get my homework in on time, and draw a picture of myself that doesn’t suck, then I am doing great. Far better than the majority of people in the world, and I will not take that for granted.
It’s Tuesday, y’all. Let’s celebrate the joy that is under our control and keep on keeping on. Be kind. Be considerate. Support the good trouble, rabble-rousers. There will be plenty of raging against the rest of it when the time comes.
Today, let’s fight to be happy. Our lives depend on it.