I Was Going to be Immortal (then decided... Fuck it!!)

I have a long standing personal mandate that my writing authentically reflect my life as I'm experiencing it (not how I might prefer to have it represented). The last post made mention of some new directions I was either about to embark on, or that were standing, in the on deck circle.

The most recent was to be a "Beginner's" Water colour class (which began on Monday and runs until this Friday). I withdrew after the first class. I won't lay claim to setting my life on fire and achieving some renaissance man status; until I can clearly demonstrate the ass burned out of my jeans and/or I achieve any legitimate depth or relevance.

I did mention, allowing myself any or all of these "experiences," would be telling in terms of self awareness. Before self awareness is of any benefit, it tastes like shit! It's been quite some time since I've sat in a "classroom" scenario; but it took next to no time, before the instructor's voice transformed into Charlie Brown's teacher .... and it "Wha ... wha .. wha'd ... me into oblivion!

I couldn't keep up (I being a bona fide "beginner" was by far in the minority) - the participant intro, revealed many who had attended 4, 5 or 6 other classes before doing this one.

That aside ... before I become too ensconced in "reasons" outside myself. I truly couldn't listen to what this instructor was saying..... "you take the primary colour, into which you introduce a small amount of a second primary colour, to produce the tertiary colour of ??????? and where will that reside on our colour wheel? and enact said mixing of paint and apply it to paper.... It's either listen or do... I can't do both... and while we're at it ... show me and then I'll do it.....

So primarily I was frustrated..... which blended with my impatience, to produce the tertiary feelings of shame, embarrassment, and believe it or not, hopelessness (yes.. before you go back, to see if you missed something, this was just a feckin' art class.

The whole thing reminded me in part, of those damn word problems in math class ..... "if I train leaves Boston travelling at 60 mile per hr............ Rob's attention goes out the window, at 120 mile per hr.

The clincher was when my "colour wheel" was thoroughly pooched and I was a number of colours "behind" the rest of the class ....  the instructor came along a took the "mixing brush" out of my hand, slopped some paints into the palette wells, mixed it up and smeared some different colours on my wheel (which frankly looked like shit) ... "there now your wheel is coming along"...

Not only was this entirely useless to me in terms of be instructional (I had no idea how she arrived at what she did)

But it was just like what my father would do when I was a young boy ...... (in essence I formed the belief I can't do this right .... and was never "allowed" to build my own experience and learning process... eventually - I'd just began saying a blanket, "Fuck it!!!!" One might say, "you should be over that by now!!!" Well guess what, I'm not! (might well be some valuable information there) so to those that say such things, fuck you and the horse you road into town on!!

What I wanted to do was gut her .... what I did, was say thank you. (I have a very special form of contempt for myself, when I do something like that)......

Maybe when all was said and done..... I just said Fuck it, again! I would have withdrawn that afternoon but the registration line was closed by the time I got home.

The time to sleep on it, didn't make me any more keen to go back the next day... so I followed through with the withdrawal process. The upside of that is, maybe I could learn this stuff in a different environment ... I didn't enjoy myself at all the first day, so I see it as a positive, that I didn't drag myself there for 4 more days of it.

It's also entirely possible I like the "idea" of being artistic .... I'm not sure I have any passion for it (lately I'm not sure I have any passion for anything) ... there certainly isn't any evidence of any talent (potential or otherwise).

I feel in integrity both sidelining this activity and giving an honest account of it. Hey, it was only one particular class, as presented by one particular instructor... who knows ... I have all the shit I bought from the art store, maybe I'll mess around on my own and see what I come up with. God knows I'm not always much enthused, about embracing "rules."

I suppose you could say instead of my being the "Artful Dodger," in this episode of as "O'Neill" turns, I dodged the art.

I would love to write post after post, outpouring my delirious successes - but frankly the only way I have any chance of healing my heart and soul of what remains of the spectres of shame from my past; is to stand fully in, sometimes my visions of grandeur, yield me an abysmal pratfall.

Sometimes you just gotta say... ah what the fuck... and then just put on some Sinatra and belt out ..."Regrets I've had a few.. but then again to few to mention....!!"

R. O'Neill (Aug. 15, 2018)