Fixing stuff, myself included…
Committed
I’ve committed myself to creating at least one post a day, and I’ve decided to be as real as possible within this forum meant for me. If anybody else is interested in what’s going on here, so be it. If not, fine. Yesterday I mentioned making a list of my “hats”.
Here’s a limited list in no particular order:
house painter
old psychology graduate student
imposter
painter
wantabee geek = what is behind that curtain?
programer
lucid dreamer
printmaker
Web designer
faux scholar
dream analyst
sometimes recovering alcoholic
sometimes not recovering
hypno therapist
romantic fool
debunker of myths
Most likely the list is incomplete, and maybe inaccurate; however it’s a place to begin. Shall I run through the list as it stands or write first about those which are most significant? Perhaps they are all equally signifcant, and I’ll close my eyes while pinning my finger to the screen (creating a sort of internet stigmata). Stigmata, that’s the place to begin. In the mid eighties (pre piercing days) I worked in Newark, NJ. I was wearing my printmaker hat at the time and was the only woman besides the secretary, in a small (20 person) sign shop. It was while working there, that I came up with the idea of a Stigmata Kit. The prototype sits proudly on my dresser top, a brightly colored tall red box with a photograph of an open palm on the lid of the box. On 2 sides of the box in white lettering:
What’s in the box:
10 copies of zerox palm prints
2 nails
1 rock
1 bottle blood red nail polish
1 pair of glasses, with nose, eyebrows and mustache attached
My dresser sits right up against the wall, and for many years, leaning against the wall behind the box, was an 18′ x 24′ cheap, framed print of Jesus complete with hallo and a dripping bleeding heart. About a year ago as I was dusting the top of the box, Jesus fell down behind the dresser, breaking the glass and destroying the frame. No I’m not going to tell you a story about seeing Jesus’s face in a taco or that the picture left an aura on the wall; however, the remains of print and glass still liter the floor under the dresser. Point of the confession = I’m not a very good housekeeper.
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