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Date: August 28, 2018


All you need to know about me is this: I'm only one week away from my first day of art school.

This blog is where I'm gonna write about all the important stuff, the stuff I'll wanna remember about this journey. I'm not gonna share this link with anyone I know, but if you happen to find this place, you're welcome to hang out – just don't get nosy and try to figure out who I am.


Why not just keep a real journal? Because my mom'd sniff that shit out in a heartbeat and wouldn't think twice before reading it. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows the meaning of the word “boundaries.”

Like I said, it's less than a week til the first day of college. Art school. I've been waiting for this moment for so long, it almost doesn't feel real. Like I could wake up any minute and it'll all be a dream, and I'll have to go back to high school and slog through another miserable day of math and history and french.

But it is real. And my life's finally about to begin.

J.

Date: August 31, 2018


Yesterday was new student orientation. I had to go pick up my ID card, but I wasn't interested in going to the “welcome luncheon,” or whatever. Instead, I gave myself a tour of the Fine Arts building.

No one else was in the drawing classroom. There was just the model stand in the middle, surrounded by easels. I thought about how, in just a few days, I'd be there as a student. It hit me all over again that this is actually happening, and the room stuck with me even after I left.

Today my mom and I went to the art supplies store to get everything on my lists. Mom kept saying how it feels like just yesterday we were shopping for crayons and glue so I could start kindergarten – she probably thinks I didn't notice her wiping away tears while I was grabbing paint, but my mom is the opposite of sneaky. I didn't say anything because she'd probably have started crying for real if I did, and then they'd need a clean up on aisle five. She's embarrassing like that.

I'm willing to give her a pass this time, even though she's starting to suffocate me with all the “my little boy is growing up so fast!” talk. It's thanks to my mom that I'm even on this path. She's a photographer, and even though she makes a living shooting weddings and family photos, her real passion is fine arts stuff. She's been showing her work in galleries since before I was born, and the first time she took me was when I was four.


That's the earliest thing I can remember, the smell of her perfume and a print on the wall that was bigger than I was, bursting with color. I've been hooked on drawing ever since.

J.

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