I spent the entirety of febraury waiting for march. I kept making personal deadlines dictating my moods, "you're only allowed to feel this way until Wednesday" "by the 26th stop acting the way that you have been" as if that would work. Everything was happening again, I spent most evenings thinking about bank transfer times and craigslist emails and missing money and dividing numbers and how time was ticking by. My wisdom teeth are impacting and I know everything will be worse about the problem the longer I wait, I can hear a little ticking clock but I'm ignoring it. The clock not just about my teeth was amplified the last weeks but I was still ignoring it. I obsessively paid attention to the silhouettes of people and looked through the windows into the apartments across the street from my roof much more. My shoes perfectly match the cracked grey-white pedestrian crossing lines on the streets in manhattan. Snow covered the seats on top of the open tourist busses driving through Noho. I kept thinking about how my friend graffitied "I mostly think about killing myself and sex" really huge in my old stairwell and how I changed it to "I mostly think about myself and my ex". The longest entry I wrote in my diary this month was about how there are height measurement rulers on the door frames of convenience stores so that if the place is robbed the security tape footage will show how tall the thief was, it's often hard to correctly recall how tall a person is when they're threatening to hurt or kill you. Everything else I wrote was mostly three or four words long and depressing. I arrived in soho every morning at the same time and kept track of how the sunlight fell between the tall buildings, the sunny spots on the street changed day to day very slightly and I kept having to change the place I would stand to make sure to be all of the way in the light. I scanned the occupants of every L train I boarded before I stepped through the doors for a week. I fell down a flight of stairs without noticing I was falling on valentines day and woke up in a snowy dorm at 4pm the next day, threw up when I got home and laid on my floorboards with unfocused eyes until I couldn't remember where I was. My roommates put all of my broken mirror pieces in a tote bag and I threw away almost all of my books. I organized all of my possessions into white vanilla-scented trash bags again. I wonder how mta decided how long the intervals should be between announcements not to jump onto the tracks in subway stations. Someone had to make a schedule for those announcements.
Promotional editorial for Abigail Stewart's Spring/Summer 2014 collection
Styling - Abigail Stewart and Camille Davis
Hair and makeup - Caroline Baribeau
Model - Ella Pearson
Assistant - Jessica Olm
I've been living in my own painfully/carefully/poorly fabricated world so completely that it's odd fitting into other ones. The first day of 2014 I spent in abandoned homes in the south, went to the airport in the middle of the night twice to say goodbye, I had awful dreams and remembered that I still have the gauze bracelet from the spool that bandaged my knee last summer. When I collect stupid things that's the way I know that I care about something I guess. I woke up too late on the last day of the gathering I was at to say goodbye to dozens of people that I care about which brought me back to reality. Roadtrip back to the north was slow-going with stops almost every hour and I stayed awake the entire time with no voice left. Stayed in Virginia for a while, slept on a blue pillow in a suburb where the green garbage bins lining the street all had a number corresponding to the house address stamped on them. I still have the tag on my suitcase that says the I live on Classon Avenue, the one I wrote down that I had never seen before. Had to climb into the bus luggage compartment to get my suitcase and the door closed on me. Arrival to New York is just how I think of it: do it you own damn self and have something out of your control happen and get trapped. The subway car floors are covered in salt so they're a slashed grey rather than a speckled black. I watch a plane fly south from Laguardia over my apartment on my roof every two minutes. My grandmother used to have the television on all the time- said that the sounds of people talking made her feel less lonely. I found a twenty-part video series a boy made of himself Skypeing with a girl that was far away that he liked and I started putting it on as I was doing things in my apartment- in the end he ended up cutting off all communication with the girl because he had some sort of mission I forget, but he made a big deal about it. I got really lonely and self-aware because I had no responsibilities for a while. I started listening to the same three songs on repeat and was afraid to sleep. I've started realizing how much of a waste of time drinking is. I said on accident "maybe he thinks of me but I don't know if he's seen my bedspread" and for some reason I thought it was really poetic and I don't remember when or where but I wrote it down in my diary, ha. I spent a lot of time with people that lived less than a few blocks away from me and I didn't like at all that I was doing it mostly because it was convenient. I think about the people living in the basement of my building and how the subway runs along the street, falling asleep to the sound of the trains passing by instead of my neighbors' phone conversations might be nice, would make me more focused on habitually moving instead of imagining my own made up conversations.