Daily Vanity : : December 2010

This project has me feeling weary towards as I’ve come to be both bored and exhausted by the prospect of taking even one more photo of myself. I won’t retire this photo jaunt for good as I am still narcissistically intrigued by the idea of viewing various angles of myself captured semi-consistently over the course of a year, however this is likely to morph into something more closely resembling a weekly vanity. With that said, here’s some of my Daily Vanity from December.

December 12 : : 2010


December 20 : : 2010


December 26 : : 2010


December 29 : : 2010


December 30 : : 2010



wall copenhagen

Often times my desk/workspace is fairly representative of the state of my mind and the path taken by my thoughts; it is a chaotic mess, a sprawl of notes, memories, ideas, images and bits and pieces meant to inspire. Try as I might to clean it and put it together into some recognizably organized state, this attempt generally fails after a few cups of coffee and an idea surge. Post-its and note pads, ripped corners of paper scribbled with ink; these things all bring me back to where I started. A chaotic mess.

Looking at my desk now, it’s not so bad. I say this because I can already sense that things are bound to get messy. Being it near the end of the year, December brings with it not just the blustery cold, but also the beginnings of “list season”. I am a lover of lists, however this love is in no way special or unique because an overwhelming majority of the population enjoys being handed their information in a concise, perhaps numbered, form. It’s just easier that way.

Anyhow, with the onset of the so-called “list season,” I’ve begun the process of compiling and contracting lists of all sorts; the standard best albums list, favorite films list, goals list, places traveled list (you get the idea). Thinking on this I started to craft my yearly bad habits/addictions list. Although these lists are different, I tend to lump them together. My reasoning for this isn’t entirely known however. From year to year my addictions and bad habits rarely change all that greatly since, when it comes down to it, I really am a creature of habit. I still bite my nails, incessantly. I still procrastinate (although I will argue this as a good quality of my academic personality). I still drink too much coffee, still don’t sleep enough, still highly critical of myself and my work, still stress constantly over this, that and everything. Nothing all that shocking has changed in this arena. It’s when I consider my self-proclaimed addictions that I discover subtle, not incredibly unsettling changes.

I’m not addicted to drugs or alcohol or some strange danger seeking fad that should require an intervention. No, my addictions are quite innocent in comparison. When I look back at this year and consider the person I’ve grown into, two distinctly different obsessions are immediately brought to the forefront of my mind. First, I’m addicted to tattoos. You (speaking to the ink covered beings out there) may disagree with me because I still have but one, however my days are frequently filled with my daydreaming of where and what my next tattoo will be. Whoever warned me that getting inked can be addicting was all too correct because the feeling is incomparable and unable to found elsewhere. Trust me, I’ve searched.

My other, perhaps more understandable, obsession is writing. This isn’t particularly new seeing as I’ve been writing for years, but more than ever before, and perhaps more necessary than ever before, writing has been my solace and the only honest way I’ve been able to make sense of the world and the aspects of life and living that baffle my mind on a regular basis. My addiction, although I enjoy my frequent journaling, pertains specifically to creative writing and the characters within my stories that help me to make sense out of my confusion.

For some reason I’ve never fully considered myself a writer until this year and still, sometimes, I feel odd at the prospect of being deemed one. Sure, I’ve been writing for years and thus the label should be fitting, but, for some peculiar reason, I often feel strange saying to any extent “why yes, I am a writer.” That is, until recently. I can’t quite pinpoint with certainty what led me to embrace the title, but perhaps for the first time in my life I feel as though I can legitimately call myself a writer.
This may or may not be because I wrote the first draft of a novel, proving to myself that I am both capable of writing such a large body of text and that it can actually turn out to be fairly good (NOTE: although I’m going to the grand extent of calling my novel “good”, it still needs an all too literal ton of touching up and editing before I would even think to let another set of eyes read it).

Whatever the unknown logic is, I can say, decidedly so, that I am addicted to writing and I wouldn’t want it any other way. In the next few weeks (and hopefully I’m not lying as I did about posting my progress during NaNoWriMo on here) I intend to post lists of varying subjects as I prepare for my yearly “Expectations of the Upcoming Year” list. I hope you find these lists entertaining, enjoyable, offensive and entirely disagreeable. Happy December.