First day of school:

RJ: How was Austin?
Me: It was lovely.
RJ: How's the BF?

I chuckled because I haven't had a boyfriend in exactly a year.

Getting back all (all!) of my old letters - there must be hundreds of them. Old love notes, and lots of tiny envelopes from John sent from the Ritz Carleton Hotel (on their stationary, as well).

Starting to get excited about making things again. I better be, 'cause I have a Senior Project proposal due in three hours (yet to begin).

I always talk to norms about how frustrating art school can be, and I know it's another language to them, just like I can't comprehend chemistry or math beyond long division. In class we had to give our definition of Art after this long process where you analyze every stage of you life and blah blah blah. It's a great exercise, and it was stressed that there were no wrong answers. I said:

[My] Art is: an obsessive documentation in an attempt to gain more self-awareness. (Among a million other things)

This was apparently a wrong answer.

Teacher said, "[My] Art is independent breath."

That's a right answer! Jeez. If it's straightforward, it's probably wrong.