Twitted

Darline Detwitted is now following me on Twitter. I didn't know I was a tweet, or signed up to do so, but watch me closely Darline, I'm sure you exist just as much as the "supervisors" at the unemployment office, who is now encroaching on one full month of not paying me a dime. . What are they supervising? Their lunch?

So I have spent the last 3.5 weeks of my life like this:

It's my ghetto answer to the Bluetooth or whatever that alien gadget is that everyone walks around wearing because they are terribly important and can't be bothered to hold a phone. Calling unemployment for any reason, even if asking their address will take longer than walking to the IRS in person just to wait in line. I was seriously 95th caller in line this morning. Apparently I'm not the only fucked person, however the human condition requires that I feel I am definitely way up on the priority pole. Rock paper scissors me on how fucked you are by these people and I bet I win. I've heard everything from "complicated" to "messy" to interesting" about my case and all eventually boil down to the same word, FUCKED!

We literally bought another phone to have on the charger for when the original beeps it's battery death warning, or in phone terms "dude, give up." Either way, it's innovation at it's finest and frees my hands to do whatever it is that I do.

Lighter news and shitty camera, I finished the second in my heroine pieces, I really hate that paper. And I hate my camera for taking such shotty photos of a really nice, yet busy, work. It's far more detailed than below shows. Shit paper. It's paper that doesn't even allow you to crop a margin or otherwise erase anything without showing telltale snitches that you made a mistake or wanted something a bit different. To my credit, which as defeated as I feel lately , I don't make mistakes often so it's not a problem, but knowing it might be is irritating. Ah, artists......the arrogance, the narcissism. Really though, I have shit all mapped out before I do anything so, it's probably the only lie I haven't told this week. I think I have proclaimed to have starving children about 3 times in efforts to get my benefits.

Ethan Frome:

This is Ethan Frome. Anyone read it? It's not a long story, and it should have been somewhere in your syllabus or summer reading list. I'll tell you, then you can click to enlarge. Ethan Frome is a quiet sort of man, doesn't particularly like his wife and takes in a housemaid for help when the wife falls ill. Ethan and the maid fall in love that can't be, so take off one morning on a sled determined for one last ride - heading for a tree and give a fuck all to life. They do hit the tree yet end up quite alive, the wife still ailing, and the lovers mangled with severe handicaps forever. All in the same house. That's some nasty wicked fate.

I summed it up, and poorly. It's a beautiful story, very mental. Recommended reading. So in my piece we have the slope they flew down, the tree they hit, the bloody aftermath and the sadness that it all encases. I don't like to explain what my work means... but sometimes I guess you have to or it's just a weird doodle.

- DM

ps - As I've noted before, there is no such thing as a photo of me without a rafe hanging around.I counted amongst the clutter and think I caught a herd of five in the phone photo. And yes that is my I AM OK affirmation post it note hanging to the right off my monitor. I need it to stop myself from gathering and gutting kittens. Find your inner chi..... /waves a finger.