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sometimes when I think too much.

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Feb. 17th, 2001 | 11:17 pm
mood: depresseddepressed
music: Indigo Girls - Closer to Fine

I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art today. I enjoyed it very much... it was loverly. ;-) Yes. Loverly. As in the My Fair Lady form of it because that show is just wonderful and I really really like it. ;-) But. the Met.

It is a lovely museum. Huge huge huge, so I didn't see nearly all of it... mostly I wandered through the Impressionist part, trying to find a painting or something that I can use for Writing Sweatshop. I think I am actually going to use a sculpture by Degas not the famous dancer one, but one of the early stage models for a different one. Or else a Joan of Arc painting that just struck me as very interesting... though I don't know what kind of character would connect with it. I didn't really see anything among my favorite impressionists that struck me as the sort of painting any of the characters I know (from writing about them) would react to or connect with in any particularly interesting way. There were some sculptures that struck ME as interesting.

I think my shape is French. The sculptures that Degas did and the figures he painted... I am proportioned similar to the way they are. My spine is not straight like theirs, but beyond that, I am built much like the people of his creations. Which made me happy. Especially to see a lovely ballerina who had legs that were shorter and knees that weren't perfectly straigh. I know I don't match my dance teacher's ideal of an ideal dancer... or any American ideal, really, but I matched the French and that was comforting to me in an odd way.

I feel miserable. I feel so much like I am a problem to people... I know it's just insecurity talking or something, but still. I am not myself.

I had all kinds of things that I wanted to write about today, but I've now forgotten what they were. Which probably means that they weren't that important to begin with. Not that any of what I write here really is, but of course I have to pretend that some things are important because otherwise I wouldn't write anymore.

I have been insanely busy this week. Insanely. I'm glad it's over. Oh, and by the way, I still hate Valentine's Day.

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