A Wild Young Under-Whimsy

I am feeling rather dissatisfied today. Like, I can draw, but I can't draw particularly well, as demonstrated by this self-portrait I quickly did up on Photoshop. (My Illustrator is busted on this computer and I don't know why.) I really envy illustrators and designers for how easily they can make things look great. They make it look so easy. The other day, Jeremy happened to come across a draft of a document I'd drawn up for a job interview I had last Friday, and I was so ashamed at how ugly it looked that I didn't want a designer anywhere near it and I said, "Seriously, could you please put that down?" and Jeremy went, "You should be proud of your work," but I think he was talking about the words and not the embarrassing design.

Also, why is nobody commenting on things I think are wonderful and giggle at while walking down the street? I put some red-hot content up here and nobody seems to think it is as wonderful as me. I feel rather rejected and don't wish this blog to become a hub for people I know in real life to 'keep up' with my activities. Of course I have other outlets for my emo drivel so there is no need to put it up here, but really, a little bit of audience participation is not too much to ask, is it?

Goddammit, I am not really making much sense. I am working myself up to being really, ridiculously angry. I just wanted to grab her hair and just yank her, yo! (Oh my god, girl, I know! I know!) I am not very good at hiding my feelings from people. I wish I could be straight with everyone and set out precisely the situation I find myself in, but I have become so entangled in this web of not-telling I have been spinning for myself that not-telling seems like the best way to protect my feelings. Do you think not-telling is good or bad? I mean, wouldn't we be boring if we knew everything about each other? Or is not-telling just trying to fit too many things into a suitcase, and they'll fall out eventually, probably in the least appropriate and dignified situation? Perhaps my room is a manifestation of this - I need to clean it out, it's like a Mel-nest.

Oh well, time for beer now. I am already late to meet Saige.