Two snow days and a four day weekend and as of yet I have done nothing other than nap and watch a movie. Nineteen days until my senior show and I have ten paintings to complete which are less than half finished. I have an announcement card to get approved and printed, a trip to Chicago, a potential visit from my father in the meantime, to say nothing of the printmaking portfolio due Tuesday. At some point I must also find the time to write a proposal for a research project that will consist of me doing bitchwork for an on-hold documentary.
Next Wednesday I will have been dating Matt for nine months. My previous record was three months (punctuated by trips and post-three week breakups). Our mutual ex is now engaged. Matt's prior and only other serious relationship was engaged once too. The relational chart of Duluth, Minnesota, and I assume the gay community at large is fucked up. Mutual exes? Check. Partner's roommates who've had awkward dates with supervisors despite living 140 miles apart? Check. Partners who are now roommates? Check.
Matt and I seem hesitant to commit to saying “I love you” when not drunk, which as some of you know is not often. I only journal when my emotions are extra-cliché. To some degree my mind classes this relationship as an emotional resume builder. Another experience. Another task to complete and stick into a reverse chronological, bulleted list with hopes of awards or recognition for outstanding devotion.
The wind outside is strong enough to shake my desk. I'm ready to get out of this town, but I am only headed towards more of the same. I plan to backpack around Europe for two months post graduation. How fucking cliché can I get? Gay vegetarian artist designer seeks similar for Wes Anderson film parties and chai. I even bought a pair of thick rimmed glasses last summer.
Only another nine months to go. Thank god there are several Beatles songs for this. Excuse me, I have some sweaters to wear.