or that someone has murdered me and is posing as me in text form, which is what my mother assumed.
I have just been so damn busy and broke. I go to sleep as soon as I hit the floor (because up until now I couldn't afford a mattress). Unfortunately there is no energy to wax poetic about the specialness of life, have a relationship, or f... un. fun? What does that mean again? Someone please save me?
Things I have been doing:
-interviewing 2 or 3 times a week. Everyone loves my work but won't hire because I haven't enough official experience. Apparently the school of hard knocks does not count.
-unpaid internship with R. Antonoff, which is surprisingly fun and gratifying, but kicks my ass.
-ehm tee vee filming and meetings, working with their ACT program to promote YAC awareness.
-finding a publisher for our comic (Last Gasp!), discussing a contract, and finishing the preview issue with Jon.
-getting scans, which showed no sign of disease other than an iffy lung spot and many large ovarian cysts thought to be benign. All kinds of pain from all kinds of work. Arthritis in my right hand from illustrating/writing/sewing.
-saw the McQueen exhibit on closing night, which was a transcendental experience.
- met Betsey Johnson yesterday and had a great interview, but still waiting to hear back. (!)
-creating a lesson plan for a Saturday fashion class for 7-12 year olds I will be teaching in September through November.
-kickin ass and taking names, but then forgetting them because I am too exhausted.
a few candids to prove I'm alive and relatively well:
these days I spend a lot of time waiting underground.
what's new with you?