Once upon a time . . .

Once upon a time there was a girl who had everything. Or, more specifically, she had a boy who meant Everything to her. Everything was exactly what she wanted. He paid attention to her. He kissed her when she needed it. He loved her. At least, he told her he loved her.

Then, all at once, Everything was gone. He left her, and the reality crashed through her world and demolished all the things she worked for. Confidence. Self-esteem. Purpose. She felt lost and hopeless. Each new day was more long and painful than the last. Then, just as suddenly as he had gone, Everything was back.

Life was renewed to the girl who lost Everything. She was happy. She was beautiful. At least, that's what he told her. Everything had changed and become better. This time, things would work out.

When things did not work out, she hurt more than last time. Could that even be possible. The loss of Everything seemed too great to bear. She thought her body would shut down from the pain of it all. Everything could not be gone. He would come back, just like last time.

And he did. He came back, apologetic. Telling her all the beautiful words she loved to her. "I love you." "You are the one for me." Filling her with his beautiful lies. He kissed her, touched her, held her in all the ways he used to. And then, when the night was over, he was gone.

Three weeks passed, and she was in a trance. Food didn't taste. Sleep didn't welcome her each night. The only thing that she could do to pass the time was run. Run until her body dropped those pounds that might be keeping Everything away. Five pounds. Ten pounds. Fifteen pounds. Then he came again.

Hours and hours they lay together, whispering their sweet nothings that were, as always, really nothing at all. He breathed his wonderful lies into her soul and they renewed the dying spirit that had resided there for three weeks.

And then the truth came, as it always does.

"This was a mistake. I can't see you anymore. This won't happen again."

But she knew better. This time, only two weeks passed before he was back, with his sweet tantalizing words of praise and his increasingly wandering hands. There are no limits on a relationship that doesn't exist. She let the hours crawl by as she waste away her time with the one that could do no wrong in her eyes. And then he was gone again.

She couldn't contain the excitement of these visits. She told. And they told. Soon the World knew about the nighttime wandering and hours of bliss. And the World interfered. He was reprimanded and was forced to feel the guilt that confused her. What was there to feel guilty for? He was merely showing her how much he loved her. That he really was her Everything.

But the end would come, now that the World knew. He came to her, shamefully, with only a moment to spare, as he told her how things would be.

"You can't be in my life anymore. Don't try to talk to me. Don't be around me. Don't come to places I will be. I will never come back. Stay away from me and forget about me."

As she clattered to the ground, he walked away. Everything turned to nothing. And nothing feels like hell. She scraped against the ground as her body writhed in pain. She felt her body disappearing into nothing as the escaped into the Death that was so surely coming to claim her. Death can be the only thing waiting on the other side of pain like this. She felt like the smallest thing in the world. And she wanted that merciful master of Death to come take her from that floor and remove the sorrow that threatened to tear her apart.

As the weeks passed, Death did not come to get her. And neither did he. She didn't see him at all. Only heard of him. Heard of his new Everything. The one he whispered to "I love you." At least, that's what they said.

At last, the shadow was lifted from her eyes. And she understood what it meant. Hours of loving bliss to her were merely passing of time and a sick release of passion and lust. The body she had worked on, for him, felt ugly, used, and dirty. And then the realization came. The lies. The facade. The love that she had participated in was never to be reciprocated. For in that grand game of love, she had played alone.

And she, alone, had suffered for it.

She stands on the other side of it now. Alive and whole. And knowing that it is only her who can change herself from the one who tolerates Everything to the one who knows for herself what it is to be truly loved.

To love herself.

I am thankful for . . .

Lately I have been so impressed with how blessed I am. I don't mean to rub it in anyone's face, but I am crazy blessed. So many times in a week, I just have to stop and think to myself, How in the world is all this working out so well? Normal people's lives cannot possible work out like this. I just am so amazed at all the things that God has given me. Besides the most obvious one (an amazing husband), I have been so blessed with my family, finances, and, well, just me. God blessed me with a perfectly functional body, a capable mind, and talents that have helped me achieve success for myself.

The other day I was reading in Mosiah, chapter 2, and I read the verses about how we could do everything we could to praise and thank God, serve him every second of every day, and still be unprofitable servants. I definitely know that I am an unprofitable servant, and that I have screwed up so many times its not even funny. Yet, He still blesses me so much.

I am so grateful that I have the truth in my life and that I am able to receive such love from God and that I am able to serve Him to the best of my abilities. Even if, after all of my life spent serving Him, I am still indebted to Him.

Let me tell you about this piece here . . .

Something I have noticed while working in an art gallery: Art brings out the pompous, know-it-all in some people. Often times, this makes them appear like a blithering idiot (Harry Potter insult). Maybe I just don't know these people and they are actually like this all the time, but it sure seems like a lot of people come into the gallery and feel like they need to explain everything to the poor people in their insufferable company.

"Now this artist, he has mastered this technique. . . you can tell where he has done blah blah blah blah . . ."

"This painting here, it is obviously of the Grand Canyon." (Not a painting and clearly labeled "Cedar Breaks")

"This one, this is obviously a Jim Jones." (Not a Jim Jones - you have to be alive to be invited to participate in an Invitational)

"The gallery was named after this artist here." (No, the gallery was named after the building it is located in, and that building was named after the man in the giant painting you obviously missed while coming in)

"This is a photograph, but the artist enhanced it after it was printed by adding watercolors." (Nope, just a really crappy printer. You also might read the label, which reads "photograph," not "watercolor and photography" or "mixed media.")

Besides these conversational wonders, people act so snooty when they come in. Maybe its the inherent nature of those people who care to venture to art galleries, but seriously? These people always talk like the artist personally told them about how the art was created. "It was done like this." The assurity in their voice is astounding, especially considering how often they are wrong." And they always seem to act like they are so much better than me. You can acknowledge my existence when I welcome you to the gallery. You can at least look at me. Maybe if you did acknowledge me and ask me a question, you could find out that everything you're saying is wrong.

I know this sounds like a lot of complaining, but mostly I just wanted to document these rare treasures.

"This piece here, it speaks volumes. What is the figure a captive of? His own desires? Western society?"

Thanks for that.

Also, who in their right mind touches the artwork at galleries? What kind of pretentious idiot thinks that they get that right. I truly do not get it. The sad thing is that it is 90% adults who do this. Kids are actually smart enough to understand that they don't get to touch the expensive, shiny stuff. But adults feel privileged I guess. It's even worse when the person is an artist and works in the same medium. If you think you can make it, surely you have the right to pick it up? I don't know, I don't get it.

UPDATE

Something else that boggles my mind about when people coming to an art gallery is the shock factor (which, really, shouldn't exist). Apparently, when people think of art galleries, they think of finger paintings and happy trees or something. "Let's bring our four-year-old!" Unfortunately for these unsuspecting parents, university art galleries are not filled with finger-painting and happy trees. In fact, sometimes we have nudity. Gasp! Nudity!! Can you believe it? (watch this come up under a Google search of "nudity" haha that would up the reputation of my blog). I am just baffled when people bring their kids in, walk around for a minute before they see the nude figure painting, and then rush their kids from the gallery, giving me looks like I am a pervert or something. Hello? UNIVERSITY gallery. We offer a life drawing and anatomy course here. People. Paint. Nudes.

I guess they think that we shouldn't hang something like that in our open-to-the-public gallery. Well, angry moms, there's this little thing called the First Amendment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's in the Bill of Rights. It basically means that we can't prevent anyone from hanging what they want in here without some serious ethical and legal issues coming up. Trust me, artists who paint nudes are well aware of their Freedom of Speech rights. We legally cannot prevent this.

So there you go, reasons why working at an art gallery can be almost as frustrating as working at a gas station. Almost.

UPDATE

Wow, apparently the summer is a gold mine for people coming into the gallery doing really obnoxious things. It's been a whole year since I posted this, but I have more to say.

Right now, I mean, literally as I type this, there are two very strange creatures in the gallery. I mean, strange in just certain ways. Of course, they are your typical, presumptuous know-it-alls who hang out in art galleries on Saturday afternoons, but instead of making asinine comments about "how well they know art." They are just condescendingly ripping every piece they walk by. It's kind of awesome, actually. I mean, yes, it is horribly disrespectful to these great people who exhibit in our gallery, but it's a nice change from the regular asinine comments.

(About a piece meant to parody "Tangled" by showing a women wrapped up in a gardening hose) "What is she, stupid? She gets herself all wrapped up like that for show? She dressed up to go get tangled in a garden hose?"

(Looks at price: $3,500) "Pssssh"

 "Where would you even hang that?"

"Sandy beach where you take the kids and the wind blows so bad they can't see anything." (?)

I guess the best thing about that is watching their relationship dynamic. It seemed to be a fun outing for them to go out and make fun of stuff together. To be rude. Together! I'm glad they found each other. Heartless people, in love forever.