Playing Hooky with my Tchotches

Not quite. I guess you could say that my student is playing hooky. She phoned this morning to say she was either going to go back to bed or clean her house. Yuck. That sounds like a lovely day. She sounded depressed, kind of the way I feel many mornings. I could have tried to talk her out of it, but that's not my job, particularly when I just woke up. Hard to talk anyone out of anything while yawning. Honestly, I'm kind of relieved. I'm not sure we're working all that well together. Her insecurities are massive, like, hm... oh, who? ME! So I'm not sure I'm the best art teacher for her. I try to mirror her feelings back to her for support, so she sees that she's not the only artist who has self doubt, but it gets tiring.

So I get to spend another morning doing slacker stuff. Whoo hoo! The afternoon is the time to work. Yesterday I wasn't wildly productive, but I did get a few more boxes packed. And I pitched a few more things in a Goodwill box, such gems as a set of plaster fish wallplaques (you know, they were all the rage in the 60's), and two copper plated jello molds in the shape of a lobster and a salmon, all stuff from my parents' house. They were hanging on the kitchen wall as an example of wierd kitsch, but I'm tired of them. Most of my decor has been ironic kitsch, like my rearing pony lamp with the rectangular lampshade made out of orange metal blind strips. What about my hula doll??? That, I am not ready to part with yet, but there may come a day. What would my house look like without kitsch? Would it look impossibly bland? I don't know if it's possible for me to decorate without kitsch, I've spent so many years developing my taste for it, like the chili lights adorning the cornices of the kitchen. It's the poor artist failsafe decor choice. Hell, I even paint my kitsch, like the old toys that I combine in surreal still lifes. Irony (or sarcasm) and kitsch: what would I be without it? I look at the bits of useless antiquity that people (including me) scatter about our houses, old milk pails, hat stands in an era when most of us rarely wear hats that can't be stuffed in a drawer, clocks that no longer work, old tin signs, shoe forms --- it's just kitsch with a longer pedigree.

Our real estate agent suggested we have a yard sale. I'm sorry, but if I spent a whole day watching videos and eating doritos, I would regard that as a day better spent than earning a hundred bucks, sitting in my front yard, haggling with octagenerians over the price of my tchotches. No no no nope. Goodwill can earn their money getting rid of my crap.

So, the day is wide open. I'm out of newsprint to wrap stuff so I think a good idea is a trip into town to get another roll and then a trip to the gym, such a rare event these days. I was feeling kind of crappy yesterday afternoon while packing and decided I wasn't going running last night because it was raining. Then the rain slowed down. I thought, I really don't feel that bad physically, but I'm stressed out over all this packing. Solution: get on my shorts and drive to the park to meet Fuzz and my running group. Well, most of my group wimped out, including my coach! Fuzz runs with the overacheivers, and the only other one of my group to show up is way faster than me, so I told her to not bother waiting for me and ran in the drizzle by myself. It was beautiful. I didn't have to worry about keeping up or humouring anyone along and just ran at my own pace, which actually turned out to be about the same as my usual time. The drizzle kept it cool, like a nice breeze, and I met a very friendly elderly Labrador who, when I stopped to chat briefly with her owner about the deer that just passed by, just rested herself against the side of my sweaty leg as if to say, hi, you seem nice, can I just hang out with you? Wet dog isn't nearly so bad when you're already wet yourself.

After another morning of being ignored by the cat, is someone trying to tell me something about dogs, or am I just opening myself up to the doggy universe? No, not another Lab, too big for eternal puppydom. I think. Maybe. Argh.