Drama, drama, drama. For once, the world, rather than my own devices, has me sinking in a pool of dramatic circumstances. To view the world from an FIDM point of view would reveal a sea of nobodies with a smallish storm of fashion designers reigning overhead, judging the sea and raining on it because it wasn't wearing the correct water. Fashion students seem to feed on negativity, like high school students (which many of them barely used to be), and I find myself trapped in conversations in which the bulimic girl is not embraced, but shunned for being a bitch...in which the students text under the tables, and complain at the extensive amount of homework. I find it difficult to make friends here, to say the least. It makes me feel old to no longer be the brunt of dramatic episodes, the high priestess of gossip, the girl (or should I say..."woman"?...is that correct yet?) who enjoys and appreciates her schoolwork as a vice rather than a chore. When did I manifest into the homebody work-a-holic my Cancerian legacy promised I would become? When did everyone get so young and bitchy? I no longer look for fat rolls and zits in the mirror so much as wrinkles and gray hairs and varicose veins (we Cancers are also very vain)...that is, when I'm feeling terribly susceptible to the mutiny of fashion consciousness. The most vain of all art forms. Possibly the most ridiculous and necessary art form simultaneously.
Luckily, I feel a deep connection with this art form, and a supreme challenge to have come into this kind of scholastic environment at perhaps the very peak (or a little past the peak) of my youth and beauty. So much emphasis is placed on the designer to be competitive, not only as an artist, but as a beautiful individual representing their art in publicity. As an individual realizing my own deterioration and the sad reality of inevitable change, and as an extremely emotional and most certainly vain individual at that, embracing this career will be a challenge of utmost importance.
Aside from drama and judgment being a general theme as of late in my work life, I have been facing many dramatic and challenging mental twists in my home life as well. What is it about the holiday season that rapes one of so much...composure? Clarity? HAPPINESS? Why must the darkness bring upon darkness? I feel strangely empowered in this years wintry months, and found myself puzzling at the somber moods of my Seattle friends, and unpredictably, my Los Angeles family as well. Poni has found his job challenging in that he is a member of a family for a living, which is altogether invasive, subtle, and deeply impacting. To feel the wave of energy from a family blossoming and pubescent is very humbling, indeed. And I know so well the incredible power of pubescence. Oh, how I continue to marvel at my own ongoing pubescence to this day! Pubescent families, including my relationship with Poni, are like wildly hormonal teenagers. DYING for responsibility, unable to comprehend their inability to fully grapple with that responsibility, and also quite prone to DRAMATIC bursts of immaturity.
On top of all that was vaguely implied above, the car I have been using has broken down (RIP? Gotard the Prius), leaving me completely reliant on my mate for transportation to and from our bungalo in the rolling hills of Laurel Canyon. It is all I can do to keep myself feeling sane in the midst of almost total reliance on other people. My housing has been provided for me, my car was free-ish, my schooling is currently on loan but the same principle applies, and now I'm left without the ultimate freedom of transport. I'm trying to keep my composure and gratitude while enjoying the peace and magic of Laurel Canyon, but also praying from the depths of me to somehow find myself comfortably in the arms of the one person I feel truly comfortable relying on: Me. But alas, lessons are learned when we are uncomfortable, right? F*cking lessons can kiss my....I mean, I'm so happy to be able to have all of these incredibly interesting opportunities, and so many generous and amazing people in my life!!!
The library closes here (FIDM) at 7 PM on Fridays because no one aside from me is dorky enough to want to study on a weekend evening. It is quiet enough to hear the GaGa whining from the earbuds on the guy eight computers down from me. I henceforth pack up my rolling-tote and commence into the dark and tepid night, onto the bus and further into the bungalows of my coveted friendgroup, where we will toast reality all over again.