I hope drinking roasted rice tea instead of chamomile tea doesn’t exacerbate my insomnia.
I say at 10PM, like I’m fucking going to surprise myself with how this goes.
Managed to get a few minutes in the kitchen, knocked out a jar of extra-everything-but-basil pesto sauce!
Next up, hummus, since Jac came back from her travels with some zaatar (and a tongue too awakened for mild cafe food or water).
I think maybe I just like having a library of dips and sauces at home.
My work is so ephemeral. Every day, some work I do expires on the calendar — no longer relevant when the day passes.
On bad days, it feels like drawing blood from my finger, to feed the toyol everyday.
On good days, I tell myself even if it increases attendance by 1 person, it’s a good thing.
I feel the need to write about art and events boiling over in me. But festival. But listings. But everything. Maybe it boils over into this blog.
Had a disagreement with my project manager recently. In front of a relatively new/young volunteer and our content partners, who were both clearly uncomfortable and tried to divert the topic.
From the way my PM says things, talks about the compromises that may have come before, it feels like we work for two different women.
The one I work for is very clear that we as gatekeepers, on principle cannot censor artists. Certainly not before a work is even conceived. The path of least resistance is built on wrongful action. The one I work for understands that the money we receive is from the people, not from the private coffers of political parties. I have seen her go head to head with leaders in various ministries, on both state and federal level, to successfully defend the rights of an artist to various expressions, even if it goes against the status quo.
The one she works for seems to be on the path of least resistance. I am worried, and I need to follow up on this.
When I crane my neck and look upwards, I hear the sound of a frantic ocean in my ears. But it’s just my frantic blood, flowing so loudly I can hear it.