My life in pictures

Bino, Janel, Ryan and I went to a Verdi musical concert over by the Bodleian Library, and afterwards decided to take some family portraits. The results? As follows:

Port Meadow is just down the street from my house. Pony time on a whim? Count me in:

Sunday, we went to the Black Country, famous for its coal mines. And black soot emissions. Wow, was that ever the most interesting place I've been to.

(No, no it was not).

However, Janel and I were called a floozy and a hussy, respectively, by the school mum. We had fingernail polish on, which qualifies us as such, I guess. And Ben and I volunteered (unknowingly) to be reprimanded in front of the class. Best part of the day, I'd say.

And we press on.

Hello, all.
Sorry it's taken me so long to update. This post will be followed by one of the ever-favorite "My life in pictures" post.
Lately I feel like someone dumped about 3 tons of bricks on top of me and I'm trying to climb my way out or carry them around or somehow deal with having a copious amount of bricks on my person. In other words, life is hard.

The learning part is the good part. I love what I'm studying, especially the modern art part of it. I've been looking at Mary Cassatt, Edgar Degas, Eduoard Manet, and other Impressionist artists, as well as reading about Avant-Garde art and feminism and sexuality in modern art. I'm finally studying something I've been wanting to learn about for at least 5 years. My tutor and I meet at the Ashmoleon Museum and go to the print room and look at original prints from the artists I'm studying. Last week we looked at original Degas sketches and, like OMGZ, it's absolutely amazing to think I'm holding and looking at something Degas once touched.

Apart from that, life hurts right now. Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks, right? My heart feels like it's full of toxins, and everything I'm feeling keeps bubbling over.
Because I'm so much more vocal than most people about how I feel, it seems like I'm the only person around who is a mess. I feel so much more broken than everyone else, when I know I shouldn't because everyone is broken. I'm so tired of feeling. Sometimes I wish I could take my heart out of my chest so I could cease feeling. But is feeling what keeps us alive? What keeps us human?

I'm struggling. I'm okay, but I'm struggling.