Illusions and disappointments

Made some new art: 
It’s supposed to be Sylvia Plath. 
I’m thinking about life in general today. Often we feel so confused and broken. It seems as though our experiences as an adult often lead to disappointment. We make these grand illusions as children, thinking such grand thoughts about what we will accomplish in life. 
then we become adults and we start to conform. We are conditioned to believe in the lie, the lie that is the Brady bunch, the man, the woman and children, and the idea that life is easy. We become disillusioned when we realize that life is very challenging at times. It’s not easy. 
When did we become zombies? When did we become these machines, shuffling to and fro, letting others tell us what reality is, what love is, and what a woman should be? 
Then we get to an age in life when we wake up. We realize who we are, and what we want in life. It is in this time that adventure can begin. 
Anyway, that’s where I’m at. I’m at the point where I realize I lived a lie most of my life, due to religion and my fear of what my parents would say or do, if they knew. Honestly, they would probably not speak to me anymore. It doesn’t matter. I know who I am now, and the only person I have to please is myself. 
Right. So that’s that. I have a few projects I’m working on, including a set of curtains that I’m making for my living room. I have the fabric all cut up, and just have to get to work on sewing it all together. Not today, though. Today, I’m going out. 
I’ll work on it tomorrow. 
Oh, and my little one graduates from Kindergarten next week. I can’t believe it. I’m going to be the mommy of a First grader. 
So, that is indeed that. Happy Friday. 
Diana Gonzalez

Diana Gonzalez is a self taught artist, writer and poet, formerly known as The Craftaholic.  

the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.” 

-Jack Kerouac


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