GET ME ON A PLANE.

I was in Milan, starting to realize I’d not book a single show, when my booker contacted in the way he generally does: sending me an empty mail with a subject that said “ALEX I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ASAP, TRY TO LOG ON TO SKYPE WHEN YOU CAN”.

I was pissed. I was not in my best moment. I wanted to go back to Paris. I wanted to go back home. It was cold, I was dealing with a lot of things, and my booker decided he would send me to Tokyo for two months, right after the shows in Paris without any stops.

This agency, Loop, wanted me there and it was a once in a lifetime experience I could not turn down. Guess. I did.

It was not out of a whim. I had to go back to Argentina. I had to prepare things for university, pay the rent, get a new flat (which I didn’t, since I stayed in the same one), see my family and most importantly, I had to go back to my loved one. The whole Paris-Milan-Paris fiasco takes around a month. If I had gone to Tokyo right after, I would have been away for three full months, something that would have been, as you might guess, a huge imposition.

Funny thing, I remember meeting someone (don’t really know who, I can’t make his face materialize in my head, but it was definitely one of the guys in the castings), that told me he was dying to go to Japan. He was studying Japanese even, but he hadn’t been able to land a contract with any of the Japanese agencies yet, and when I told him I was asked to go and had turned it down, he just could not believe I had done that.

Things have changed, and now turns out I really want to get the fuck out and go to freakin Tokyo, and Loop doesn’t want me any-fucking-more. This is Karma.

CAN SOMEONE PLEASE PAY ME A FUCKING PLANE TICKET SO I CAN GO SOMEWHERE?

No offense Buenos Aires. I like you. My friends are here, my home, my stuff… but if I don’t go somewhere after I’m done with my commitments, I’m gonna feel so ridiculously useless not even the amount of free time I would have for drawing and painting excites me.

I’m pissed. My booker told me whe’d find a way to fix this. I’m still pissed. Like. Fuck it. Why nothing’s simple for me?

FUCK I FEEL LIKE SUCH A BRAT when I say or write stuff like the whole thing I just wrote. I'm thinking weather if I should or should not post this, since it's really a very strong case of "poor little spoild wanker", but I will, so I read this in a few years, when I hope I'd have grown up a bit, and think, God, I wish someone would have kicked this stupidity out of my system.

I went to talk to a teacher from university today. I have to take some exams next week. I’m trying to prepare these stupid practical works. Is like “the final practical work” where you showcase what you’ve learned throughout the semester. The day of the exam, you present this practical work (it can be a scale-model, a simple essay, a mini-collection with everything included, from the sample fabrics to the sketches and the flats or whatever) and then they run a few questions. If you did a good job, you pass, and you can go home, and have a life again.

I’m having so much trouble focusing. I’m disgusted by how right my father was when he told me if I’d take a year off from uni, I’d have an extremely hard time getting my hands on the leash again. I’ve managed to do little progress, but I doubt I’ll be able to take as many exams I intended to in first place.

A guy I know from the tracks just started going to class too. He feels trapped and bored. It’s epidemic. It’s an almost irretrievable faith. After running a few years, there’s nothing as thrilling and freeing.

On my way home, I bought a huge bag of crisps and a bar of chocolate with strawberry mousse inside. After my junky meal, I have to admit I’m feeling better. I guess things are the way they’re supposed to be.

As an answer to this whole situation: FUCK IT. (With my save the whales T-shirt)

Image courtesy of Gastón Torres (we are fauna).