A) the change in color in the birth control pills currently being taken daily by artist, Julia Claire Wallace
B) Disappointment caused by the actions of her friends.
including but not limited to: losing the superior status of 'single,' and acting as if the artist,
Julia Claire Wallace is a female to be fucked or not fucked.
C) Uncomfortableness caused at information that was thrown about and not well explained.
D) B and C, intensified by A
Julia Claire Wallace decided to attempt a period of solitude. She decided that maybe she should start avoiding tall, skinny artist formerly referred to as 'The Muse' as well as his sidekick. She also debated ignoring another artist which will be referred to as the 'Cheerleader' due to option C, although she assumed she would talk to the Cheerleader soon, because she knew the idea of ignoring her was silly.
Julia Claire Wallace went to the Menil Collection to see the Bruce Nauman exhibit as her first action of solitude. Although, she must admit, she did realize that this place of art was directly in the midst of the homes of both the cheerleader and the artist formerly known as The Muse.
She parked and began to walk toward the Menil Collection, but halted when she realized that with an hour of daylight left and a group of minstrels (which included a banjo) serenading the neighboring park. She must soak in this beauty and go indoors when it was no longer available.
She lay on the ground reading a book entitled "Stardust" that she had started reading because she felt devoid of the energy to read anything of obvious value.
Julia Claire Wallace soaked in the blueness of the sky, the greenness of the grass and the sweetness of the banjo. The leaves that framed the sky were appreciated greatly by the artist and she soaked in the beauty of the moment without thought of the past or future.
At a particularly strange moment when a tiny white hairy dog, and a large friendly Fluffy brown dog were invading her space she saw the artist, formerly known as The Muse ride by on his bicycle. She waved over the large brown dog and pictured what it must look like. A dog, a waving arm.
Surreally, the artist formerly known as The Muse rode back and lay next to her on the green grass.
They discussed many things that she wouldn't remember.
She asked the story of the ballerina accountant, and creator of life art, the boyfriend.
She was happy to hear these stories.
He said that she probably wouldn't like his music, which annoyed her and made her feel hopeless. She decided that he would never ever understand her. This was understandable, but sad.
She told him that she was unsettled by seeing him here, because she had debated avoiding him for a long time. Of course this didn't bother him. She knew it wouldn't. She wouldn't have told him if it would have.
Finally he rode away, and called after her with a laugh, that she should try not to contact him for awhile.
I would have to TRY to contact you, she thought.
She got up and walked toward the museum.
Tears in her eyes. It must be the pills, there is no reason to cry now.
She walked through the exhibit, but she kept crying while she watched Bruce Nauman painting his face or playing one note on the violin in his art studio. She thought he was beautiful. She wondered how she could find someone like Bruce Nauman. Where are the Bruce Naumans? Where are the people who are not afraid?
She had to leave, she couldn't soak in anything.
She drove to CVS and bought a soda and some candy, she debated buying multiple kinds of candy, she wondered about consumerism as she picked out red licorice and Big Red. She wondered what would happen to her if she ate things this red every single day.
As she got back into her car she thought that she should write a book about the artist formerly known as 'The Muse'. This should be the end. This should be it. I should never see him again. It will be a tragedy. People will hate this book because it is so unsatisfying. People will love this book because it is so real. This is what happens. People just leave. She asked herself what people reading the book would think of her. Will they think she should have pressed the matter? She abandoned that line of thinking.
She decided that she should write a book that would capture The Muse the way that he should be, the way that she wished he could be. She should capture the god that she had created in her mind. He is too beautiful to exist only in my mind.
She felt love, for this artist formerly known as The Muse, she did. She wanted to be his friend. She knew she would probably see him again, and that she would always care for him, and that many more good conversations would most likely occur. He is a normal person looking for a comfortable life, and that is fine. She was glad that his pain seemed to be lessening with the new changes in his life.
But she wanted to snip the string between him and The Muse. She didn't want this man who didn't think she would like his music, who dated, who abstained from cocaine, to pervert the glorious Muse that stood so tall in her mind, with his arms wrapped around himself.
So she attempted to snip the string in her mind,
and she felt some relief, but she knew it wasn't really gone.
She went home and created a Life Art Blog to help her deal with the intensity of her emotions.
She documented "An Attempt at Solitude". This helped her feel better. She no longer felt a desire to run away, but she didn't feel the desire to run toward anything either.
She sent the former Muse the writings, even though she had just vowed not to contact him. Although she did realize that she had decided to avoid The Muse, and that she was now contacting the artist formerly known as The Muse which was an entirely different thing altogether.