I've had this "yicky" feeling ever since I posted the last blog entry. It didn't have anything to do with what I said, but rather, with how it looked. I posted a list that I had made in a class called "Mondo Beyondo." And wow, every time I see that list or see the blog entry, I just. think. yick.

I liked my list. I like the class. I like the people in the class. I like the content of the class. I like who I am in the class.  But what I'm having trouble with is I don't like how I express myself when I am not using a computer and someone else's pretty artwork, fonts, or textured paper. Our assignment for that particular list was to handwrite it. Since I always follow the rules, I did handwrite it. But, it felt, a little, yick. And it still does. So much so that I think I will have to re-do my list on the computer, adding other people's oom-pa-pa color and art, so that I am happy when I see my list. (Which, by the way, is the point of the list.)

Maybe I've known this all my life, but have never said it to myself, but here it is: I wish I were a visual artist. I wish I could paint or draw or collage or whatever, so that what happens on the paper feels like how I feel inside. I've never been able to do this and am suddenly struck with how truly frustrating this is. It's like there is a girl in a tutu inside of me, paintbrush in hand, but whenever she makes a purple whoosh it manifests as a brown scritch. When she paints moonglow, it appears as a brown scritch. When she draws her mother's smile it ends up looking like … well, a brown scritch. And frankly, I don't even think scritch is a word. That's how bad things have gotten.

And now that it is late and what I really want to do is wrap up this post and post it … I find that what else wants to be said is that this actually isn't just a problem with paints and pens and markers. Truth be told, even with a computer and other people's oom-pa-pa color and art, I still often feel unable to artistically express what that girl in the tutu wants to say.

Here's what is even worse. In general, I can usually find words to say what I want to say, even if I can't complement them with the perfect art. But you know what? Tonight I can't even wrestle the right words out from inside this human being. It's a meta-frustration experience.

However, I am saved by one thing. Just 39 minutes earlier, I had posted this sentence on the Mondo Beyondo wall: "I'm here to unmatch my clothes, wobble, splatter polka dots on the sidewalk, & learn to just show up — unprepared, but faithful."

So what that means is this blog entry can be just that: a wobble and a splatter and something unmatched. It can be my practice of just showing up. Because really, what else do I have? And also … it is pretty amazing how quickly the universe gives us what we ask for. Here I am, all wobbly, but faithful.