The beauty of homemade blue jean bags

An important note to those whom I hold dear, yet I ignore to varying degrees:

Well, I've probably attempted to apologize to you before- although a select few I shamefully resisted for years giving this apology, as the apology itself meant breaking a silence that I suppose I was not yet ready to break. I still don't have a tidy explanation for why I was unable to reengage during

and after my Italian voyages. I know that after the first time I came back from Italy, I found myself unable to maintain the relationships I had just the year before. I essentially lopped off half the names on the list of people I considered friends. Those "lopped off" weren't at all those I considered less important. Basically, those who were geographically less convienent (read:not Fullertonians) were the ones whose friendship I allowed to expire; set aside like a once loved pair of jeans that no

longer fit. I still keep them around- but I never wear them, and probably won't ever again. Among [these neglected friends] who *might* read this are Nikki and Daniel (and Daniel: I certainly owe an apology to Stephi as well, who never understood that my selfish behavior in no way reflected on her or my opinion of her). I'm placing rather personal apologies in a rather public forum because I was often unable to make that first step in an exclusive and engaging

manner. The fact that even those [some of those who] shouldn't have befriended me in Facebook [did request to be my friend] gives me hope something can be resurrected in my new existence. To my Fullertonians who I've only been ignoring for a few months: Well, I suppose your used to this from me by now. The overarching point being: I actually hope this very blogthing can keep [me] somewhat engaged with my home

world. So I might not be able to [wear] those "old jeans" like I once did, but who knows, maybe I can find some new reason to pull them out of the closet. Make a bag out of them perhaps.

Middle School til you scream

[In the very small notation around the dashed line:]

A friend of mine asked for something like this [i.e. this blog]. I look for any excuse to write these days.

I'm about halfway through my hell month-and-a-half. Which sounds terrible that I include the time my folks were out here- their presence was a coincidence. I wish they were still here in fact, and their presence was, at worst, insanity-neutral. Sure having to spend all of my off time showing them around was a little tiring (though- I reiterate, still enjoyable), but their Dario-sitting services were wonderful, as was the fact that Carla's family had to be on their best behavior while my folks [were here] , they saved me headaches that way as well. The hellacious part is mainly the copious amounts of work I have right now. For example, on Monday I work from 8 am until about 9:15 pm with only about 90 minutes to myself. By the end of the month things will mellow out again as a lump of 21 hours/week of class will fall off [my schedule] all at once.

Functionality!

****So this is going to be how my blog is going to work from now on, for now. Essentially my blog is done first on paper, then translated to digital paper (as seen above), then typewritten below, so as to make the whole thing legible. And yes, I know my handwriting is, well, infantile. ****

[Let's just say it starts with my equivalent of doodling]

A black baby bib with a rapper-style $ medallion. I believe a baby... well, I don't remember [when] Eugene gave it to us. Really who else would make that. I hope he won't despair to know that Dario's never used it, but rather should enjoy that it's hanging as more of an art piece now. I can't see from here, but it's hanging from [a]wire, protruding or otherwise, on a the, uh, it's not a box spring- it's like a metallic cot you put a mattress on. Here in Italy you do.

at least. It's really quite an uncomfortable juxtaposition, this wire spring thing, Eugene's bib, the odd hanger also dangling among the wire-springs. And then completing the image, two chairs under a mountain of clothes. I had yet to figure out what the bib was doing there until now- that corner is Carla's homage to Eugene. I'm not sure she meant the whole corner to be taken as being part of the scene. Indeed this work- which is really quite off-putting in a wonderfully interesting way- is now a co-authored piece. Carla putting that bib [in] a haphazard... a dark (dank?) dingy domestic type place. I'm tired. I was out of

[the] house for 12 hours today, even though I'm only going to get paid for 5 1/4 hours. Get up tomorrow at 7:30, which for me is my earliest day. Too early. Wouldn't that suck if what I hate makes me a better person? How horrible a choice would I have when summer vacation comes along?

Either I:

a) Relax and "feel good" doing jack shit

or

b) Wake up early and be productive.

[Editor's note- apparently Eugene didn't make it after all, but still, he did buy it for us. It's wonderfully tacky but highly useless, it weighs like 10 pounds.]