I try not to think about it and that makes my heart kind of heavy, so then I do think about it but my heart doesn't seem to feel any lighter. At this point I can't pinpoint what upsets me or how to even begin to fix it. All I know is that sometimes it's kind of hard to believe that you actually exist.
I guess the trouble is that even when I'm sure of something I somehow still have a hard time saying it like I really mean it.
When other people get stressed or frustrated or blue they eat or drink or sleep or go shopping. Lately I've been feeling one or all of these things so during my lunch hour today I hid on the second floor of the bookstore and looked at art books. Have you seen any of Francesca Woodman's work? Lately I've been spending a lot of time staring at her photos and thinking about what it means to be hidden and exposed all at once.