Nothing Creative Today

Hey Dad,

I don't know what it is about this year, but it's been especially difficult to deal with. I'm pretty sure my coworkers think I am insane and that I possibly hate my life/job. When in reality I've just been really down because of the whole you're dead thing. Can you believe it's been five years?

Coincidentally I spent today at a funeral, and part of last night at a viewing, at McDougal's Mortuary of all places. I saw Gary Angell, he works there now. It was incredibly surreal. I parked in the same space as I did at your funeral, and the viewing was held in the chapel. It's strange, but I'm so glad that I was there. (So quit feeling bad Marci.) It's so interesting to see how others deal with death and mourning. It's good to feel like I'm not alone. Even though I don't understand why I still freak out every October 17. I wonder if that will ever go away, and why I seem to be the only person who does that.

I was really good this year and went out to the cemetery to see you. Sorry I didn't bring anything, I don't know if you heard or not, but we are in the middle of a recession and money is tight everywhere. I can't even begin to express how frustrated I am and how trapped I feel. I keep wishing that you were here to take care of things, but you're not.

This past year was sort of crazy with graduation and everything. The past few months have been especially crazy. I visited Chicago, made some new friends, found Bryant, and even had a cancer scare. I'm fine though, don't worry. I always land on my feet you know? Because I think I can do anything, and whether or not I feel like it right now, so far, I'm right.

I miss you Dad. And I love you.

Mal

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MalloryQualls.com

Bitchin' right?

Thank god for synthesizers





Or if Carl Sagan's not your cup of tea...

I just needed to share this with someone..



My desktop hasn't had less than 30 or so icons since I first purchased this machine. I am so productive it's sick.

Currently I am blogging because the idea of actually sitting down and writing up a personal philosophy on art is scaring me shitless. (Have you noticed how this blog has turned into a non-stop whine fest about how scared I am of graduate school?) After whining to a friend today (for what I remember to be hours) he patiently sent me this quote.

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

-Theodore Roosevelt

It's strange how people reappear in your life at the exact moment you need them.