GPOYW - learning how to paint again edition
Things are a lot less scary when you give yourself permission to fail.
And when you have a metric ton of white acrylic.
Very expressed introvert
Moderately expressed intuition personality
Distinctively expressed thinking personality
Moderately expressed judging personality
Autism Spectrum Quotient: 33
When we talk, I can’t look you in the eye. It’s nothing personal, I just can’t think about what you’re saying and what I’m trying to say while looking at your face. I lose my train of thought. My mind wanders. I watch your lips move and your eyes blink and I wonder how we developed language. What were humans’ first words, and how have our mouths evolved over the ages? And so I look toward some imagined horizon because there are fewer distractions there.
You have to give me a second. If I we meet each other on the street, I can’t place you right away. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s me, unable to move you from your previous context into this new one. It’s me, unable to adjust my train of thought and my series of actions. It’s me, concentrating, literally, on putting one foot in front of the other, figuring out the best route to my car, wondering whether or not I’ve forgotten anything. It’s me, trapped inside my mind.
Please forgive my awkward moments. When I say things that hurt your feelings, I’m only speaking what I think is factual, and there is no good or bad, only outcomes. Don’t start crying. Please don’t start crying. I can’t think fast enough to comfort you and will stand dumbfounded, my arms hanging at my sides. I will wonder what went so horribly wrong, so suddenly. I need the reason first, then empathy can follow.
I don’t know why fiction chose me. I have a tough time with emotion and intent. They seem crucial to the art.
Yet I have lucked and stumbled into a great life: I have a home, a job, two wonderful kids, a fantastic wife and no black lung. I have hobbies and fresh air and oranges grow in my back yard. Oranges! There is a skate park near my house. I recently spent $60 on art supplies.
This is my favorite self-portrait ever.
The moustache isn’t a good look for me. It’s not ironic, it’s not manly. It’s just dirty and sleazy and gross.
Yet I’m growing a moustache all November to help raise money to fight men’s cancers: prostate cancer and testicular cancer. I have twenty more days with this thing on my face.
You can make my shame worthwhile by donating a couple dollars to the cause, growing your own moustache in the time we have left, or reblogging my fish-eye face to the world.
Help me kick ass cancer in the nuts (and vice versa).
(GPOYW kick cancer’s ass edition)
GPOYW - what I did at four this morning edition
Have: bad hair cut, nerdy glasses, Tumblr stickers. At least two of these things are set to appear at the Gainesville Tumblr meetup. Saturday, May 29, 7 PM at Boca Fiesta.
I wouldn’t drag you there if the food and drinks weren’t good. Plus, Warren Oakes is a really nice guy.
RSVP via the meetups page