I am having company over on Tuesday, so I am cleaning house.

Yes. I am cleaning four days before they arrive, because it takes that long.

I am a messy human being.

I truly am.

I am surprised Loren ever lived with me.

I think of little beyond my artistic pursuits. I generally only clean if I can no longer work on a project because of the mess.

Because I need so much space, I have very little furniture (I acquired my first couch on Thursday! A hand-me-down from my buddy James). Before my couch, I only had one chair, an eight-seater table, two bookshelves (one filled with rolls of fabric, the other with stacks of fantasy novels, reference books, sketchbooks, and how-to books), and a wee 13" tv.

All in my enormous livingroom.

My idea of an excellent evening is staying up as long as I want, either sitting at the table or sitting cross legged on my sheepskin rug, working on projects.

I had to run an archery tournament recently, except I had to work, so my archery teacher ran it for me. All I had to do was put together the whole thing, package it up and hand it to him, and he just said 'Fire!'.

He and his wife came by to pick up the targets, and, as I was showing him the various targets and prizes (which I'd made as well), said something to the effect of:

"Holy crap, Rosie! You're creative!"

And I mean, I don't argue, but I did not really understand his outburst until he left.

And I looked around my livingroom.

There was no place to stand or sit, because everywhere there were puddles of projects: paintbrushes and paints (gouache, acrylic and tempra), bins of stretched canvasses, leather working tools and bracers, beading supplies, calligraphy supplies, my sewing machine and a tunic I was working on...

And that's not even counting the projects I didn't have out at the moment.

And as I was cleaning tonight, I became depressed. How could anyone live with me, as a lover?

How could anyone love someone who thinks more about colour theory than her own hygiene? (Speaking of which, I need a shower, and orange is the complementary of blue.)

I do not dress well. I rarely pluck my eyebrows. I rarely shave. I only know how to put on make-up because I started thinking about my face like a canvas.

My fingernails are short, because it's more practical. My hands are rough and callused from working without gloves too much. Currently, even, I have second degree burns on two of my fingers because of some miss-communication at work (which resulted in me grabbing a fuck-off hot thing).

I am depressed to think about it.

Lately I have been thinking over the problem:

Would I rather be exactly who I want to be, and be alone? (For who could love...a beast. *DRAMATIC PIANO*)

Or do I want to change, and have love?

It is a tough problem.

I do not know the answer.

.

Rosie.

Before&After