Dear Douchebag Who Stole My Hasselblad

Seriously you can go fuck yourself, I hope you live a long terrible life and I hope you believe in hell and I hope you get to go there and face all the fucked up demons you've created with your dishonesty and generally shitty life.

More than anything, I just wish I could get my Dad's dog tag that was being kept safe at the bottom of the bag.

In retrospect I always seem to have premonitions about bad things- I looked at his tag over and over wondering if I should put it somewhere safer, but I liked it there with my camera, and I always had my camera bag with me, I'd cling to it while traveling, terrified of losing it and now it's gone- of my own stupidity for not only leaving it in my mom's car, but for leaving the car door locked (though I would never do that on purpose). I keep wondering that if I had actually tried to find it if I would have found it, but I let it go, feeling too defeated by it being gone to even hold the hope of finding it again. I also wonder if I should have stayed on top of the investigator who was in charge of my case, but I also think he doesn't give a damn.

What sparked this is going through my film and realizing how much more medium format film I have over 35 and how much I prefer my square shots to my small format. I miss my Rollieflex more, that camera was magical and was given to me by a very generous photographer who believed in me.

I feel so frustrated, having had some lowlife take my main camera from me, taking my favorite tool, denying my voice and vision it's proper medium.

Sure sure, it's not the camera it's the person behind it. But we all have our favorite pens, brushes, guitar, whatever. I keep telling myself that I wont put energy into continuing to mourn the loss of my camera, but to look forward into the future. I have my Olympus OM-4 and a shitty digital I hate and never use. I keep thinking to leave the Nikon D70s behind somewhere, just ditch it, since I hate it so much. But truth is, it's a fine medium, even if it's terribly out of date. Make due with what you have Meagan, beggars can't be choosers.

But all I want to do is skip some steps and start making a little more money, sell some prints, something! All my best stuff is on my squares, though, and I look at the other work as un-uniform. Perhaps all of it is, and the coming months spent in the warm and new territories of New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada and (especially) California will bring me to what I'm looking for.

My last shoot of 2011 will be of my sister Melody, tomorrow. I hope to be able to drag her out of bed around sunrise and catch the dawn, then chase down the perfect light and location around the waters and old Underworld of Chicago...

On another note, I took my first pole dancing class yesterday and got my snatch waxed for the first time this morning. Shit hurt of course and I'm painfully aware of the lack of bush going on downstairs and I'm pretty sure I'm not very comfortable about the whole thing. I believe full nudes will be put on the backburner for a while until I am.

It sucks, lately I feel incredibly not pretty. I look at pictures of myself and I'm disgusted.

A few thoughts on Christmas and New Years

So... So.

Christmas is coming and I'm trying to make the best out of it. I again have little money to be doing all the things for all the people I wish I could, but I suppose that comes with the territory of vagabond. I'll be spending a few days before Christmas traveling around to various cities so that I can see my immediate family, that happens to be quite spread out. Christmas eve I'll be spending on a 13hr train to Chicago, which I have mixed feelings about, naturally. I arrive Christmas morning to be with my twin sister for the day, who has to work in the afternoon, most likely all night. I'm happy to be spending it with her, as we haven't spent a Christmas together in some years now, and I always miss her so much... Family gatherings feel really strange to me without her- I consider her an anchor, particularly with family, like half of me is missing. Probably because half of me is missing and they're used to us together.

And then there's New Years, which I have the thought to fly to LA New Years Eve because it'll be the cheapest and I don't much feel like entering into 2012 in a drunk haze feeling sorry that I don't have a lover to kiss me and be romantic.

As I consider these things, of traveling and being alone during these two big holidays, I'm mixed with feeling sorry for myself and being excited that I'm putting my career ahead of some expectation of some great to-do dedicated to being amazing for these dates. I like that I keep getting rid of things. I like that I traveled down to DC with barely any clothes and a bunch of photo shit. I like that I've set a goal to get that photo backpack as the next step in taking myself more seriously as a photographer and artist. It seems every time I take one of these steps into professionalism, the universe responds with many times the positive feedback on my work and other people recognizing that it's not just a hobby, it's not passing, it's not going anywhere and that I really love my work. It feels good to have people see my passion, and appreciate my vision.

Thoughts on Cruelty

Two things to start off with: 

A) My Hasselblad got stolen from my mother's car

B) I keep getting anon hate on my Tumblr, and I assume it's by the same person

While one is the act of hate by a random person, the second is an act of hate by someone who has singled me out to harass me personally. 

Both hurt. I don't know who the harasser is or who stole my camera, but they are both people who have lost a sense of right and wrong, who are desperate in one way or another. I have a hard time wrapping my head around it, because I live my life as good and honest as I can. I don't spend time talking shit about people, or hating people I don't know, I don't steal or cheat or lie. I'm not going to say that I never slip up, but I hold my life as something that I want to look back on and recognize my hard work and feel like I've earned everything I've worked for- honestly. 

That being said, every obstacle that comes my way will be overcome. My best camera stolen by a crackhead? My car impounded? Cruel anonymous words? Whatever it is, nothing will stop me. Nothing will break my spirit. 

Keep it comin. With every fight I get stronger.

And as a friend of mine has told me many times, it's not the camera, it's the person holding it. 

Moose and being Upstate

I feel so stuck and tortured up here in upstate NY!

Though not completely.

I've been taking care of the family dog Moose while my mother's in Florida through til Thanksgiving with my Grandmother, who moves there for the winter. Snow bird and all that. So I agreed to watch the house, take care of the dogs, etc, while she's gone. Sounds like it wouldn't be that bad, you know, having the house to myself and all that... but there is just NOTHING to do in Watertown.

I guess I should try harder. Shoot something or something.

Not having wifi also drives me bat shit. Not that the internet is that interesting anymore, but at least it's something.

anyway, here is a link to my Etsy store 

It's only got a few prints up on it right now, but I'm really trying to push selling a few of these. I'd like to get super 8 film, more paper to print on, and a nice light meter. Among other things but at the moment that's what I really want :)

At least sitting around with nothing to do encourages me to write and read more.

Ignore my Sniveling

It's almost eleven and I don't know what I've done since dinner. Laid down for a bit, but other than that, suddenly I find the hours ticking by and nothing's getting done, nothing's happening. It's like I'm frozen, waiting for what to do to come to me. I have a couple options but nothing seems quite right, and here I am staring at photographs of my life and nicknacks from childhood. There are things to do, there are things I must do, but I can't seem to do them. I feel like sleeping would be better, I feel like junk food would be good, too, but that requires getting up and going across the street, that requires spending money I don't have to spend. God, money, what a pain in my ass. If I had money, oh the things I would do. But I guess that's what separates people. Have the will to make what you want happen. I feel I'm in a rut, a bad bad rut I can't pull out of. The Nothing is getting to me, swallowing me whole and mostly I don't even care. I don't really talk to anyone anymore, I'm bored with the internet- yet at the same time, I still don't read, I guess I've been writing a bit more, taking some pretty pictures but my depths are not being reached. Everything's skimming the surface and I'm just laying here, watching time pass, breathing through my sufferings. I want to talk but I don't know the words, I don't have the right ears, nothing comes out most of the time. Fragments, then, when they do. Fragments of stories, fragments of feelings, fragments of my life and I'm wondering if I've totally cracked this time... I wish I knew the answers, I wish I knew what to do for once.

Detaching

Self Portrait printed in the darkroom... buy one at my etsy store

It's nine thirty at night and I'm considering going to bed, that's how bored I am. That, and I'm anxious, I'm not sure if it's out of lack of people to talk to, things to do, not smoking cigarettes, not drinking... Probably everything. The internet seems incredibly boring but it could be that I'm just boring. Someone pointed that out to me the other day, that I am indeed boring. Thus, I am bored. In my desire to step things down a big notch and gather my whits, I've actually become boring. Excuse me, I think I'm insulted by myself.

Wow, I just realized that I am absolutely surrounded by all the things I miss when I'm not here. So many books it's unreal, unreasonable amounts of writing mediums- three typewriters, multi coloured and designed paper and envelopes, every color pen and pencils, crayons, shit loads of pictures, scrap books, construction paper... All these things to do and I'm bored?

I'm becoming obsessed with the idea of ditching my iphone and getting some piece of shit thing. I keep thinking about leaving with the least amount of stuff possible. Wondering what I can sell to make a little money but not finding the drive to actually photograph it, and thinking- fuck it all, fuck it all I just gotta get the hell out of here, let go of all my attachment to everything. Just pack up my photo shit, minimal clothes and get goin to NYC...

bored, bored, bored

Sometimes I just want to scream, I want someone to really hear me and it seems no matter what I do, every work that comes out of my mouth or fingers falls on deaf ears- am I not saying the right thing? Are my words falling together incoherent and desperate? Why is it so hard to find someone to hear me? God, I know it's not just that- I want someone who I want to listen to just as much, I want someone who holds my attention. I could scream at people I care about to listen because I feel like they are lacking, my phone lies unused day after day, facebook is dead, email is dead, everything is fucking dead and I went from 100 to zero and I'm left trying to concentrate on my limbo, of my putting shit together one day at a time, and it's hard- I work better in a wreck, a chaos and I'm stranded among my own thoughts and few possessions, memories haunting and emotions licking like fire across my chest where it feels so heavy with addiction and not of cigarettes and booze like I'd think, but of inspiration and love and passion and stimulation. I am bored, I am so bored and mostly I sit here in my room thinking about all the things I have to do to become unbored, to move forward, yet I let my heartbreak lead my days into nights, wasting away with dream tortured sleep and the never ending flow of unanswered questions- questions upon myself and everything and everyone I know. Why is life so difficult? that is what I've found to be true above all else, it is difficult. And am I as self centered and terrible as some people think I am? Christ, I hope not, but if I am I suppose it's time to consider that an option and adjust accordingly.... Ever fixing myself. Ever bettering myself. I am confused, constantly.

Shit, I think I just need therapy.

Jane Eyre

I've just watched the movie... and it's made me cry just as the book did, when I read it a few years ago. It's so romantic, and heartbreaking. Her patient and diligent love, her humble and quiet demeanor.

I feel like I'm constantly searching out this love to have, to put my heart into. Sometimes I think my cigarette addiction is nagging at my heart, and so I would smoke, and it doesn't fix it- I become restless and tearful and wonder why- and it's the same as it's always been: Heartache. Heartache not for the love lost, but for the love never had. So badly do I want to have it, only to be ever denied. Once and a while I think I've found it, so I chase and I chase after it, only to have the person of my affections turn from me, and maybe that's my great dilemma, falling in love with those who will not have me. A fear one way or another to demolish any hope of happiness- fear of losing that person, fear of not being good enough, smart enough, pretty enough. Fear of letting them down, so why not destroy it before it gets there, anyway. Maybe one day I'll find someone who will make me calm, someone who will stand through the firestorm that is my defense- it's not fair, it's not something anyone should put up with or endure. Perhaps, even, I will find this calm in myself, God, wouldn't that be nice... Why must I have it in my head to find someone to complete me? Where have I gotten that silly idea stuck in my head. Just as some would like to tame me, there is a part of me that wishes to be tamed but none who I see fit to do so. Lately I think it comes down to me taming myself, and which I've started to do. I can't decide whether it is sad or relieving. A part of me thinks I am giving up on this love, another thinks I am preserving some semblance of that innocent girl who believes so much in that romance. I don't wish to be jaded and broken, but no matter how hard I've tried, I think it's happened...

Small Town Reflections

So I've been in Gouverneur for five days now, and until today I haven't exactly left the house, except to the gas station across the streets for snacks. Not for any other reason except for the fact that I've been totally and completely engrossed in scanning and editing pictures. I have a lot more to go, but I'm getting antsy, so today I went for a run, down to my old Elementary school (I was only there one year, but it was still nostalgic.. and small) and through the path in the woods they have there. It was great, I really enjoyed myself, and I've enjoyed being alone and quiet. Of course, I've been keeping my brain distracted with Buffy while scanning, but I'm in the last season, so by sometime tomorrow I'll have no more Buffy, which is good. Then it's on to exploring more of the town. It'd be nice if I could maybe put some of my work up in the cafe here, find a way to make some money to get business cards and my website up and running. Etc. It's all a bit rough but between selling most of my clothes and some of my other things, it should be a good start. I have a lot of prints, and I hope that I find people who want to buy a few of them, unfortunately there's a lot of portraits, and too personal.

I do wonder, what will happen when I try to tap into this little town. There's gotta be families wanting family portraits, highschool girls with dreams of modeling, and couples wanting romantic or saucy pictures... But it's interesting, because it wont take very long for me to infiltrate, it's one of those towns where everyone knows everyone. All I have to do is sit at the pizzaria or cafe for the next week. Shouldn't be too hard. It starts tomorrow, cause I gotta make money soon so I can get the rest of my film developed. Hm, plans plans...

blah blah blah

I've been back at my grandmother's in wayyy upstate NY for three days now... in that time all I've done is sit in my room, watch Buffy, scan and scan negatives, edit a few, start to organize my room... and do my makeup about a dozen different ways. The combination of being in my 10-14year old room, having all my clothes in one place (and makeup), doing a self portrait project and needing to make money... leads me to want to do just play dressup with myself in order to sell some of these clothes. I mean, there's definitely worse ways to spend my time. I really could use a tripod, though, I had one at some point but I'm pretty sure I left it in my old apartment. One of them, at least. But whatever, I'll make due with what I have. I've decided that while I'm a clothing hoarder, I may as well make some money off of it, seeing as I can't be a vagabond with all this baggage, besides, I've lost almost everything as it is. I'm really getting good at not having attachments to... well, anything... Or (sadly) anyone. I've definitely developed a good sense of loner. Now if only I could make myself go running. I fucking hate running.

Go home, Meagan

Wow. The last few weeks have been pretty crazy. I think I've drank every day, and I don't feel bad about it, for the most part. I've had a lot of fun, with a lot of different people... But I've also lost my car, my 35mm camera and I'm more broke than I have ever been. I'm barely going to make it home with what I have, and people keep asking for trade shoots, instead of wanting to pay me, which really bums me out. I love working with people I want to work with, I love modeling, I love photography and being a part of it from both ends of the camera... but I need to make money, and it doesn't seem to be happening. I'm sick of searching people out, of playing the money game... So the only option left to do is break down, go home to my grandmother's and get a couple shitty jobs and work that way. The right way, I guess. I suppose it was too much to think that this could be somewhat easy, and a hell of a lot more fun. But I've had my fun, and it's time to go home.

I've been crying a lot today, for many different reasons. I have a lot to say, but my platform seems lost to me, at the moment. I have a typewriter finally, but not I don't have the money to develop my film when I get home. I wish I had my car still, I feel really lost without it.

Why does misery bring so much inspiration? I'd rather be happy and inspired, but I don't know if I've ever been happy. I feel truly insatiable.

8 o'clock in Charlottesville

It's eight AM in Charlottesville, and here I sit at a little coffee shop where my friend works, both waiting for the time when I have to leave, my bags draped around me like the weird hobo that I am to walk to the train station and head back North. I have just enough money to get me back to NYC and not much else, and while I do worry about that, I can't seem to care much at the moment. There's no point really.

I'm sad I wont be going back to school this semester. As the dates dwindle down summer and closer to the beginning of the school year, I feel the pull to be going back. I miss the darkroom a lot, though I am disappointed in my work for the summer. I'm confused about what to do with my time, energy, money, etc. Sortof sitting in the eye of a storm and instead of preparing or ripping into it myself, drawing on it's energy, I stay there, looking up and wondering who I am and what I'm doing here.

I guess not much has changed. I try not to be down, to instead just be steady in my own somber attitude. "Serious" as my friend would say, "I'm a serious person". And I believe myself to be a serious person, too, serious thinking most of the time, at least. I think in prose and poetry and love, albeit chaotic and confusing... Sometimes angry.

Life is so full of options, you know? At any point on any day, I have so many choices to make, that I could make... some of which would change my life completely. It seems that NYC wants me though, or my heart wants NYC... Even if I long to return to the safety of my school and my hated Utica. There is comfort and normalcy in it that I love and despise there...

So much of me is a rebellious heart and soul, and until somewhere around 7th grade, I thought everyone was that way. I remember sitting in social studies and having our teacher give us this kind of sociology quiz about human behavior and such, asking what we thought was true or not. The only question I remember asked about whether most people prefered structured routine over a more spontanious life and I was so sure in the latter, and shocked to find that false.

Sometimes I think about that and I still don't know what to think of it.

Smiles

photo by David Wittig

This photo was taken in Chicago on the beach about a month ago. David and I have a great chemistry and I love the photos we've gotten.

people sure seem to love it when I smile.

Which is nice, because I want to be happy. But sometimes they are lies. I struggle with that whole "fake it til you feel it" thing. I want to be honest with myself and everyone around me, but I also know that the happier you are, the better things go for you. So maybe if I keep smiling, good things will happen?

Honestly, I feel strangely happy, though (considering). New York City does that to me.

rambling ranting ignore this entry

NOOOOO

I knew there was something else in my car that I didn't want to be losing... my super awesome biker boots. Ugh, they were one of the most expensive things I owned and I wore them every day- How it's taken me a week to realize that I didn't have them is beyond me- I guess maybe cause it's so hot out? All of my jewelry was in there, too. ALL OF IT. I loved my collection... Oh and all my clothes... I mean sure sure, I have some more at home, but some of my favorite things were lost, and I am left here in Brooklyn with no fuckin clothes. I literally have a pair of shorts, a couple shirts and two dresses. But I'm used to having a shit load of clothes to choose from! Meh. I guess it wouldn't be so bad if I had money to buy some new things, but I don't. Yet.

I'm looking at all of this as a new start, cause what else is it? I literally have next to nothing and I am just so so so grateful to the powers that be that I have my main cameras, my laptop, portfolio and wallet. It sucks I lost my car and everything else in it, there was so much in there that I really loved, but the cameras mean more, and the portfolios of images I've spent hours to print...

And I'm really going to miss my school and everything but the prospect of moving down here to Brooklyn is really amazing. I've just got to take care of some things and make money and pay my retardedly high phone bill somehow and find an apartment and and and... it's all very very overwellming but I don't care, I want it, I want NYC... Everything I want is here, everything. Most of my friends are here, money is here, photography is here, it's all here and I love NY so much it hurts...

I was talking to this painter, Dave, the other night, and I was going on and on about all of these things, telling him about how since I can remember I've dreamed of traveling and growing up specificly of NYC. Living in the same state as such an intense city, so close yet so far away... Anyone with talent and ambition moves to the city! It's obvious. And so I chose not to do it, for one reason or excuse or another, even though I've been dreaming of it for most of my life. Dave says, "people all over the world dream of moving to NYC. There is nothing like it."

When I think of these things, when I think of the mathmatical equation to lead up to me living my own life in NYC I just get so excited....

A hard route I always seem to take - but living off of dreams and love of life is the sort of freedom most people never taste.

RIP Car...

So... My car was stolen.

For those of you who know me, you know that my car is one of my favorite possesions, right up there with my camera and computer. Often it comes in first place, seeing as it can take me away- a constant real escape at my fingertips. A thought is all it takes, and I'm out the door and in my car driving down the road with the wind whiping my hair because I have no AC and I don't mind. Radio crap or driving in silence because my tape deck is broken. The dash alight with warnings, check engine and barely able to pass inspection last year but the little garage in upstate NY that I've gone to forever and so has my grandmother, they said they could pass it again this year and the sticker was there, marked July, and it's almost the end of July....

Fuck.

Honestly having it stolen isn't a bad end to the car, but I wasn't done with it yet. We were suposed to drive to California together, me and that car. We were supposed to let her die on the road, where she belongs, not melted for metal scraps and torn apart and sold and destroyed alive. There was life in her! Given, not that much, and she was kinda dangerous to drive anymore... but she was mine.

Have I meantioned I've had that car since I was 16??

It's strange, because while I am very upset about it and terribly stressed over what I'm going to do, I also feel oddly quiet about it. Perhaps "sobered" by it. Or even liberated.

It's that last kick to the ribs when you're down and beaten and suddenly you say, no no Fuck You and you realize you got a lot of fight left in you, come up swinging like a person possessed and scrapping for life, the fury really tapped into and unleashed.

Except I'm not mad. I just sorta feel like I'm watching myself, with a nod, yes- shitty things happen. Yes, you feel like extra shitty things happen to you. No, there still is no option of surrender.

If anything, this just adds to the fire.

Dear Mister,

You know... I look at your website and the pictures you have posted of me and I find myself crying, bursting into tears at the person you see me as, of who you portray me as, a person I hate and I hate you for not seeing more than that of me, of not seeing me as any sort of pretty or good person, slandering me next to pretty pictures of my sister, torturing me with regret for ever trusting you and letting you take my picture and pretend to be my friend, forgiving you over and over and putting my faith in you. I really hate you for it, I hope you know... and you're so fucked up, you'll probably read this and be happy to know you continue to cause me distraught anxious frustrating tears of regret. You are the worst thing that happened to my modeling, and I'm sure you're not done fucking me over. I am not the person you portray me as, the person you so desperately want to see me as. You are a fucked up old man and I don't know why you chose me to be at the receiving end of your nasty attacks.

and I have you blocked in my email and I think, I wonder if he's emailed me and low and behold there is more hate mail from you. I shouldn't be writing this for you to find, I shouldn't be letting you know how much you hurt me, but you do, you hurt me a lot, and I really don't deserve the hate you give me, I really don't. You talk about how much you hate me and what a terrible person I am but I don't even talk about you anymore except to tell people I don't like you because I trusted you and you stabbed me in the back and you continue to do so.. There is so much worse I could do to you or say about you but I don't.

I really wish I never met you.

Just Kids, by Patti Smith

Today has been filled with this feeling of dread and I cannot for the life of me place it's meaning. I feel unsettled and left of center, so left, I feel left- my body gone from my soul, wandering somewhere in the vast depths of my own stream of inspiration and longing, lives upon lives of options lost to me and drowning in my seemingly endless possibilities....

And I feel my ego is misplaced, or that I am without ego entirely, somehow. It is not my ego that speaks of my possible endeavors or accomplishments or success, but the knowledge of such great opposite, of such failure and inability. Wasted youth, wasted talent and space and love and everything and God, am I scared. I hate to admit it but I am scared. Or scarred? fuck, play on words. fuck, prose.

back up, Meagan...

I got a package today, it's a book and I knew there was a note inside, because the friend who sent it to me, she would never send something without a note, or maybe she would, but I knew she hadn't and I flipped through the book without looking at the cover, searching for her handwriting... and found it on a scrap of paper bag in the front, asking me to please read it- which is and isn't strange... is strange, because if you send a person a book, you expect them to read it, and isn't because she knows me enough that if she expresses her desire for me to understand something that she found in it, she knows I will put all my other books aside and I am already so distraught with inspiration and words and feeling that she is right, and I open the book almost immediately and I am happy she signed her note with love, because God knows I need real friends with real love and she is one person I know to be real and honest, like so many people are not. Honest with herself, and I know if it meant something to her, that this book will jar me in all the ways I need right now and I am thankful to have it.

God help me, I feel like I'm exploding

I am the Same

Brooke, May 2011, Annapolis

I don't know how this happens, but I've not only maintained the number of followers I have on this blog, but I've gained a few as well. How does that work? I haven't barely updated in so long... Maybe this blog is as interesting as I'd like to think it can be, or maybe my ex who tells me over and over how good it is, isn't the only one who thinks so.

So... Why don't I update very much? Mostly because I know there are at least 58 people reading my blog, which while it's nothing compaired to how many people follow my Tumblr, I know that those people (and possibly more) are actually reading and many of them still check to see if I've posted anything new, even though it's been months and months since I was actively writing. The fact that so many people are still looking to see what I write makes me very nervous, and has caused me to get stage fright, if you will. I mean, don't get me wrong, of course it's flattering and makes me feel really good that people enjoy what I write... But the whole part of a blog for me is to be able to write whatever the fuck I want and pretend no one is reading it, though with a hope that there are people out there who are and who enjoy it. Does this make sense?

Anyway, I put Finding Nemo in. Third movie of the night, and I'm feeling left of center and there's really no reason for me to feel this way. I want to cry for hours and the only explination is my over emotional girly nonsense cause I have nothing to cry about, I am not unhappy. I am actually quite content, and particularly pleased with myself lately.

Though I always feel like I'm grasping at air, that nothing can happen fast enough and that I am cursed with forever being dissatisfied. Always wanting more, always wondering what else is out there for me, and ever wanting to better myself.

I wonder, often, who I used to be verses who I am, and it's comforting knowing that my friends from growing up all say that I haven't changed at all - which I'm sure can't be true, but at least at the core I am the same Meagan Sample.

Rant first, Birthday update later

People keep telling me to go digital.

Yes, yes, I get it, I understand where you are coming from...

But when was the last time you told an artist who uses oil paints they should use Illustrator instead? Like common, stop telling me how the fuck to do what I do.

Or you could give me $2,000 and shut your face and I'll get myself a digital camera.

I LIKE film. I understand that digital is faster and more convenient and blah blah blah but I LIKE film, okay? It's not just some hipster kitchy thing I'm doing, it's just my medium of choice. Yes, I would love a digital so that I can make my turn around faster, I can test shots out and experiment, I can shoot in lower light and I can take tuns of shitty pictures without burning through my film.

See? I get it, I really do. But I dont' have the money to buy a camera, anyway. Hopefully soon I will but I live my life like a straight vagabond most of the time. Doesn't leave much room for thousands of dollars of equipment.

besides... stop telling me what to do and how to do my work.

New Year Resolutions

I never make Resolutions but I do like to think of a new year as a new start... I also think of my Birthday as a new start, as well... which is conveniently half way through the year, so every six months I get a new start, haha.

This year I desperately want to work on bettering myself. Drinking less, reading more. Being a bit less outspoken and more calm instead. Listen more. But most of all, become more positive, happy and optimistic. I want to be content with myself and what I'm doing, instead of always feeling like I'm wallowing in my self pity, loneliness and self consciousness.

I spend so much time wanting friends and a lover of my own that all the time between I'm wrought with heart ache. I think this needs to be the start of the end of that. Wake up every day for ME and doing what I want and what makes me happy- and healthy.

Perhaps having such a shitty day yesterday was a good thing, a final kick in the ass that says, Meagan, if you want it, make it.

If you want it, Make it.

So:

1. Read more, party less.

2. Speak less, listen more.

3. Sleep at night, get up in the morning even if I can't sleep through the night.

4. Work out.

5. Formal shoot at least once a week.

6. No drinking during the weeks when school is in session.

7. Quit smoking by the end of the year.

8. Travel out of the country

9. Write something daily (journal/letter/blog/etc)

10. Continue eliminating people and circumstances that are a negative influence on my life.