God, do I miss writing here. And it's not that I haven't had the opportunity, because I could have made it. I could have made the time to continue writing more and contributing more frequently, but some combination of laziness or intimidation or anxiousness has left this blog post-less (by me) for over two months now. I'm not sure why no one else has posted.
I'm back in Naples for the month of August. A time of respite, regathering, trying to amend somethings, shoring myself up in preparation for going after the world yet again, sooner than later. It all comes in waves, modeling work. And not perfectly timed ones with predictable sets of troughs and crests...that's not my metaphor. The waves I'm talking about aren't predictable. I had tons of work, and then it would be nothing. And so I had tons in May, and a little in June, but July was depleted, and August...well, I'm home. And as always, money plays a role in my mind. Modeling and Money share the same bed.
I've lent my brother oh so much that I began resenting him for something that I should understand all too well since I've been there too. And that gets magnified in my internal and external battle with myself and BAS/C. They owe me a lot of money, and my last paycheck bounced. And the replacement paycheck bounced. And I've cried on the phone, and stuck at a gas station, and alone in my room. I can't imagine how and why it has come to this...on their irresponsibility and my own, for allowing such an accumulation of debt to me. Money problems have brought me more tears and sickness than all my relationships with boys combined. It's that silent shadow behind me, as if the reason I allow myself to get caught up in boys or find myself talking about them is to divert my attention and avoid my pain and frustration and fear and profound doubt. At this point, it's hard for me not to somehow just drop the fact I'm frustrated with getting paid when I talk about modeling. Friends find out my picture is in Seventeen Magazine and People StyleWatch for the campaign. That sort of thing tells them I'm successful, and I can't help but role my eyes to myself in someway, and indicate to them that my life isn't as glamorous as they may picture. Or just let it slip that there is definitely some fucking irony in my life.
I went on vacation to St. Tropez for a week when both my savings and checking accounts were negative. (How do you even have a negative savings account? And that trip saved my ass since I didn't have to spend a penny). In the south of France, I was laughing and dancing and flirting among people that spent more money in one night (not even including the extravagant brunch or dinner) than all my debt from school and work (that has caused soo much stress and pain and tears) combined. What a mind fuck that is. They spend money to impress, I look beautiful likewise.
Boys, I'm going a little crazy. Too many are playing some small role in my life that I'm casually allowing them to fulfill. It's fun, and less emotionally taxing than it's ever been. It won't keep going like this, I mean, it can't. But someone more meaningful will hopefully come out of the pack that I won't be afraid to commit to, that I will want to drop all the others for wholly and effortlessly.
Design, oh design. I'm going to reformat my architecture portfolio while I'm here in Naples. According to Nicole, I don't have enough white space. So I'm going to lengthen the document with Space. It'll take some time, no doubt. I'm hunting down a computer that is capable and willing to handle it (amongst friend's computers....since the ones in my home aren't options.) I'm excited to do this since I've been starved of design.
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