magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

I've been censoring myself again recently. Sure there's all sorts of stuff I could be writing about—school, work, stuff I've been reading, and yes, I would like to be writing that stuff (I'm enjoying my classes, I finally got studio space, I'm working the reference desk and cataloguing Masters' theses at the Pratt Library), even if only for posterity—but the stuff that I really want to be writing about is also the stuff that I'm conflicted about posting: all that messy, emotional, interpersonal stuff.

I feel that once upon a time I was young and brave and didn't let any second thoughts stop me. I occasionally regretted something, and once or twice did go back to black something out, as it were, but for the most part, what ended up here on magicbeans was raw and open and showed me to be the full of feelings, awkward, confused person that I am. And there's something cathartic in doing that. Working out your awkwardness in public gives you a good kick to at least take a stab at doing something about it. Letting the emotions out keeps them from turning into headaches and ulcers (or at least from worsening headaches and ulcers).

And yeah, maybe I don't really want to whole world to know about all my insecurities and hang-ups; maybe I especially don't want the girls I like or might like, or who might like me to know about all my insecurities and hang-ups; maybe really I don't even want my friends to know about all my insecurities and hang-ups. But on the other hand, yeah, maybe I kind of do. That need to share that comes from a life of introversion. It's why we become artists. Or why some of us do.

And so.

And so. And so part of me really wants to act like a real grown up. Because after acting the part enough it becomes second nature, and you really are a real grown up. Because it makes me look good. Because pulling it off, looking all grown up and positive and charming makes people want to love you, or at least not close off the possibility of that. And yeah, really, I am a real grown up. For better or worse I've taken care of myself for the last 15 years, that's going on half my life. I have a roof over my head, food in my stomach. And yes it's a struggle, and yes it's certainly not always easy, and yes there's some really big bits that aren't going all that well. But basically. And so why the need to pretend?

I want to be honest. I want to lay the messy stuff all out, and see all the pieces, and see where that gets me. I'm not going to do that. Yet. But maybe in bits and pieces. Maybe in art. Maybe in a more private venue, but then I do come back to the: why am I still doing this at all if I'm not using it for the purpose that I started it for?

And why indeed? I've written precious little for the last, well, years. But I want to. It has done me good in the past. I'm here.

I'm here.