How did I not update this for four goddamn weeks? Often during the last month I've written diary entries in my head, and then maybe somehow they've just fallen out and dribbled down the sidewalk or something.

Here's something strange I've noticed: since I purchased this very expensive and hyper cool new computer I have not spent all that much time on it. I think when I was using the old computer I was just using it to look at new computers, and now that I've got the new computer I've got nothing to do! That's not really true. I use this computer a lot, but when you blow a couple grand you want to make sure you are getting your money's worth right away.

Last week I did the First Thursday thing, didn't puss out this time, and I actually sold a couple things. Some small paintings, I only made a hundred bucks, but I was damn happy to make that. I was sitting out there feeling all sorry for myself, knowing that when I got home I'd have to piss and moan about how I'm just not a good artist and how I don't have any business picking up a paint brush and all that shit, knowing it was going to be a horrible night of self loathing, and then all the sudden someone came and bought one of my paintings. A little one. I priced them cheap anyway, what the fuck do I care. Five bucks. That made me only fifteen in the hole, since it cost twenty to get in. And then one of the guys I work with stopped by and browsed around a big, commenting on a painting I did of the Burnside Bridge with Big Pink in the background. He said it reminded him of driving around at night for work. Well he disappeared for a while, and then came back with $55 in his hand and bought the thing. That lifted my spirits right up. One might suggest, if they were a prick, that he was just trying to be nice, but I don't really know the guy that well and I had a lot of other paintings priced much cheaper. You see what I have to go through just to convince myself that someone actually liked one of my paintings? Jesus Christ. Anyway, right after that a couple more people came by and bought a couple more little paintings. Goodie for me. So I guess I'll be back down there next month.

Here's the thing with painting and creating art: I can't do anything without considering what other people are going to think of it. Doesn't matter if I feel like somethings good, and even if I do like something it will probably only be because I think other people whose opinions are more important than mine will also think it's good. At least as far as my stuff goes. So last month I did a few paintings with a Portland theme, a few cityscapes and things like that. I had fun with it and I really like the way they turned out and I think they are good, but then again I wonder if I'm just pandering to what I think other people will like. Of course if I enjoyed painting them and I like how they turned out it shouldn't really matter whether the inspiration was purely artistic or purely capitalistic, should it? Does the end justify the means? How does a person go about putting out the imagined opinions of everyone else when creating something? I don't know how to do that. My life revolves around other peoples opinions, real or imagined. And on this topic, do I need a style? Okay, my friend Aimee does basically one kind of painting, and apparently people really love it because she sells a lot of them. I, on the other hand, like to try all kinds of shit. So I get some wacko idea that might be good or might be total shit, shouldn't I feel free to go with it because that's what being creative is all about? I worry about things like this. I stress about them. I wonder should I not do something that might seem to be outside my "style", because then I'll seem flaky or something. Always worrying about how I'll "seem." I hate that fucking word. Don't want to "come across" as whatever. You know how it goes. Am I rambling? Don't want to come across as rambly.

I just read Chuck Palahniuk's Fugitives and Refugees: A Walk in Portland, Oregon. I really enjoyed it. I live in a weird fucking town, and I think that's just great. I wish I knew how to not let little silly shit keep me from enjoying it. I'm so fucking tired of anxiety and stress and worrying about stupid bullshit all the fucking time. I hate being so thin skinned and sensitive. Grumble grumble. Sometimes I put a lot of effort into trying to just be normal. Going places and trying to put worry aside. Being out in public and not becoming a tiny introverted jumpy weirdo. I need prescription drugs.

I'm driving to Utah in about five days. I'm so excited. I miss my family and my friends so goddamn much. Of course I'm driving my shitty little car there, so it should be a funky adventure. I'll have to tell you about it.