Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

After a long and arduous adventure on Monday that resulted in much more sun exposure that I planned, I ended up with a painful, searing red sunburn.

As Painful As It Looks, originally uploaded by Jenna Tollerson.

I wake up this morning, and I'm peeling. I never fucking peel.

I can't wait to write this week off.

Originally uploaded by Jenna Tollerson.

Originally uploaded by Jenna Tollerson.

Originally uploaded by Jenna Tollerson.

I am supposed to be writing my take-home exam. I'm hoping silly B&W pictures may help with my writer's block?

I really wish I wasn't in school right now.

Here's an entirely ridiculous picture of me.

If you really enjoy the pretentious histrionic writing, don't worry; the mood of the House is cyclical. I'm sure I'll be depressed and self-loathing again anytime now.

I noticed over the past few days that I'm usually feeling outside myself. The mouth that is attached to me is talking, my body and face and interacting, and meanwhile, I've been retreating inside of myself, wishing that I was alone.

The thing that really is upsetting about this feeling is that it's happening with just about everybody, even most of the people I'm ‘close’ too. I'll be speaking and be suddenly overwhelmed by this feeling that I have no idea who I am anymore, and I certainly have no idea who anyone else is, and that nothing is simply authentic. None of the connections I have with anyone are real. I'm putting on a show, and they are doing the same.

The revelation only leaves my feeling empty, and less alive than I conjecture I am supposed to. Of course, who knows if that estimate holds any water; it would not be a stretch for me to blow things out of proportion, as I have a violent dramatic streak.

In any case, the fakery, whether or not it's all in my head, is giving my this suffocating feeling from having to entertain everyone, to put on the show, to be the famous, fabulous Jenna Tollerson everyone loves. I simultaneously feel like everything I value is transient and fleeting, hard to grasp.

My theory thus far is this: at some point in the recent past I decided that if I suddenly felt depressed for no reason, that was not okay. I shalln't wallow, I shalln't treat this as anything but a normal day. Right after I cry for 20 minutes I'll clean myself up and push off the dark cloud.

While this system better than wallowing, than thinking about being worthless all day, a happier medium is probably in order. Sharpening up externally and convincing myself that I am really, just fine has produced an entirely different kind of problem.

It doesn't help that the one type of human contact I'd actually like right now is a type I cannot seem to procure. It mostly involves prolonged physical contact, low lights, the opposite sex and absolutely no talking. I'd take it in a platonic form right now, even. I just know that I need to feel heat and muscle and tangible things, and that such an intimate situation allows for much less posturing than typical conversation.

But much improved.

Detail.

So I have been working this evening on my self portrait, my first in paint, and since I have gotten very good about drawing from life but not good at making things up, about half way through my progress I actually went and put on the shirt that I am wearing in the painting.

(Mind you, this is a painting in progress.)

Upon approaching my work again, I had a brief flash of the feeling of embarassment you would get showing up to a party in the same outfit and hair as another girl.

A second later I reasoned with myself: the "other girl" is a painting I did of me wearing one of my shirts. I cautioned myself to keep my feet on the ground and sat down to work.

::cough, cough::

Anyway, everyone go visit my super cool MT ring neighbor Witold Riedel, who fixed one of my "bathroom portraits" for me. He made the cheery smile one much brighter.

Before | After

I'll tell ya, that shirt is much more saturated than the one I was wearing, but other than that the colors are pretty true to life. It's not as soft as the orginal, but it is prettier.

One day, I too will be a Photoshop master.