On Monday and Wednesday mornings, before Fine Art Photo, I have Creative Writing Non-Fiction at eight AM.
I actually am really enjoying it so far.
We do a lot of free writes, and I brought a lot of old journals and sketchbooks up to Rochester with me because for a few years now I have been planning to write memoirs and it looks like they are starting to come together with the help of my therapist and my own forced growth as a person in this environment.
I hope someone wants to read it.
This morning I woke up at 7 am, washed my face, got dressed ran out the door into the cold and grabbed some oatmeal from the SAU cafe, thinking that it would be dumb to not eat something and screw over my metabolism.
The oatmeal is the important part of this story.
After getting breakfast worked out I go to the library and get on a computer so that I can print out my previous assignment, and struggle with getting the libraries awkward printing system worked out. I finally get to my writing class and sit down only to realize that, my purse, my books, my folders, and part of my camera, were now redecorated with oatmeal.
On the upside now they smell like cinnamon sugar.
My homework for monday in that class is to read a peice from our book, and respond to it in a way that we have lied, or how we are liars. This is going to be interested (and by interesting I mean I am not sure how comfortable I am with telling all of that to my new class.)
She will probably be embarrassed that I put this here.
are the only people who still use these, art teachers and art history teacher?
I mean I think they are cool, I like slides.
I feel like our class is going to come together nicely, a lot like my photo one class last year with Willie.
End of Class Till H and A: Nap Time
From the walk back from class this morning
I really liked the way the light was falling on it.
Also from the walk back to photohouse, trees next to the august center
I also liked the light here, I have this image way bigger, but its around 60 inches tall.
This is the same hole in the pavement that I walked by with the water in it earlier this week.
This is what it looks like now.
I walk by it almost every day at least once.
I am going to try and photograph it
at least once a week.
I think. Maybe.
They are my Franken-Pants
Once they were two pairs of pants but then suddenly, two of my favorite pairs of pants had big holes in them.
That just wouldn’t do for two reasons
1) I would be cold, I don’t like to be cold.
2) Both pairs exposed my innappropriately
So as the story goes, my pants found new life as another pair of pants.
Back in Photo House:
My white board,
usually says “Kenna Is”
in reference to my location
but people write things under it
so far I have gotten
“a sexy bitch”
gotta be honest
it kinda makes my day when people do that
because last year
no one ever did anything like that
and my life was a big mess
(its actually still a big mess)
but things seem to be looking up a bit
Self Portrait: Al La Myspace Photo
The mirror in the back of my dorm room door has a story by Neil Gaiman written on it in expo marker.
titled “In The End“
It has been written their since the end of last quarter.
I have no idea when I will change it.
Some Bedside Reading: The Girls Next Door (into the heart of lesbian america(I actually can’t make myself finish this, it makes me miss my ex to much, but I don’t even know what to call her really because we never really dated. All I know is that I love this girl and I always want to have her in my life and that I miss her terribly all the time. I don’t event think there is a word for the kind of love I have for her. I am also postive that I have never felt the way I feel about her, about any guy but my mother can never know that and I hope she never will. I miss her so bad)) and Smoke and Mirrors (a collection of short stories)
One of my plants: I have a few, they really make dorm rooms a lot better.
I have Seasonal Affected Disorder, so my room has all daylight balanced light, and extra mirrors, and plants, and is pretty much all green and brown.
I seriously don’t know how I would deal with living here without the lamps.
Close up of some of my tearsheets: I love Lillian Bassman.
Window in the far corner, Books: The Rose in the whisky bottle is the second time I have ever been brought flowers by any bo ever. The first time was because He had given me Mono.
I got picked up from the airport after break and handed a rose.
My face matched my haircolor.
I really don’t know how to function in relationships where boys treat me right.
thats kinda messed up.