Monday, April 16, 2007

theft, fraud, cocoons, molting

Today I got a letter from a bill collector-- not a bill for something I purchased, used, or forgot about paying-- but the electricity bill for a year of use from 2002-2003 in a house I wasn't living in, in a town I had moved away from, and an account that I had closed-- but seemed to re-open without my asking after the house had burned down, been rebuilt, and someone else was living there.

OH N-Star, how I hate you so. Maybe you provide electricity to Boston and Allston, but you done me wrong, babe. So three years after I last wrote a letter to explain to a collections agency how this isn't my charge, I again wrote it. Only this time I called the boston police first, and reported an identity theft, an unauthorized use of my social security number, a ink-spot on my credit report that six years later isn't close to being cycled through. Maybe they'll realize their mistake now, stop harassing me intermittently years later.

Instead of being stressed about this, I went to the gym-- which made me nauseous. Something about the elliptical machine and I just don't get along. So I rowed. I rowed like there was a river that needed exploring, and I, fabled squaw, was going to find out what was there.

The first big fork in the river led me down a pass where maybe my heart would explode, but I saw butterflies. They were me being nervous. A big one from a dream I had last week landed on the tip of my canoe. This winged silkworm spoke of one fine space:

my new studio. with a little bit of trouble and a lot of fending off creepy old men, I'm probably going to be getting a studio in the basement of a neighboring building. Yes, a painting studio. I'm not sure if I'll be able to afford the rent, but hell, it's cheaper than the grad schools I didn't get into. It'll give me a place to move all my art stuff to, and where I can only work on my work. Not deal with the mail and the mess and the tv and the distractions. I want to log hours in a basement room with a stereo and a cement floor. I want to seal and paint that floor, install shelves, buy a de-humidifier (good idea craig), and make something worth looking at. Hopefully the rest will follow-- curator and critics visits, a gallery deal somewhere.. the future, that lake, those huge eyes flapping in the air.






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