Tuesday, May 27, 2008


Before I launch into my long-overdue, under-anticipated re-launch of ye ol' blog, I would like to take a moment to ponder out loud on why I think so much of my past writing has been just depressive drivel. I think it's because I have always been afraid that if I'm ever anything other than sad, I will become normal, and normal is lame. I'm terrified that without the comforting refrain of the great all encompassing darkness, slit-your-wrists in the bath depression, et al, I will be forced to admit that I'm just a plain-jane, square-o.

Well, turns out all that sad n' shit business was lame, and square-o after all, and I'm going to just talk about whatever the hell it is I feel like talkin' about at that goddamn (!) moment. I will henceforth make every attempt to diversify, diversify the drivel! (Sad may still make an appearance on occasion...just to remind myself that it's me I'm blogging about).

So now the topic of todays post: Art School, or Professional School? Back in January, I applied to several programs, including studio art at my long-held dream school / nemesis OCAD, naively believing that fate would make the decision by letting me into one program, thus keeping me from having to accept the responsibility of choice. To my great disappointment (re: excitement, from an ego-perspective), I got into all four programs. Only two really stand as front-runners...OCAD, and grad-school for Landscape Architecture...the latter being a manifestation of the former in more 'adult clothes'. In an extraordinary act of cowardice, I placed a deposit on the grad-school a day before the offer expired to delay my decision a paltry 2 weeks. Now, two days before the deadline to accept the OCAD offer arrives, I find myself still undecided, waffling, floundering in a sea of possibilities and possible missed opportunities. I have dredged the very bottom of the ocean of alternate solutions to my problem, including asking a magic 8-ball on the counter of a beloved diner. As a last resort, I turn to the anonymity of the internets. It's a last ditch effort, a final gasp from one who knows she is about to drown in a flood of competing hopes, desires, etc. etc. So give it your best shot, cast your nets or lines and see if I bite. I'm curious about the bait, maybe some direction.

I'm hoping for true North, but I'll take South-east and I'll fucking make the most of it if that's what it comes to.

Wish me luck.

(Picture is a little botanical-conical delight from a weekend of pain and pleasure on my hands and knees in a dirty bed of pre-flowergarden).