Creative... ness?

I'm having a hard time believing that it's Christmas next week. Even though I take pictures of little kids in their Christmas dresses all day long, in my mind, Christmas is still months away - these people are just crazy early and well prepared. Of course, my mind does not always work properly, as has been seen, heard about, and demonstrated time and again. In my mind, Christmas equals snow. Even though I moved to Portland to escape the snow, the snow means that Christmas is here. I walked by Trader Joe's the other day and smelled the Christmas wreaths only to think to myself "god, they're early about that shit this year." Yeah, a little not with it.

As I walked home tonight, I realized that I've never thought of myself as an artist or a creative type. My walk down the trendy part of town was accentuated by the odd, drunken footsteps of my own feet that would not work properly. The soft scrape of my jeans that were so waterlogged that they were falling off my ass marked one footstep while the other had the soft scrape plus a loud 'thunk!' of my shoe falling off my right foot every step. The only sound on one of the trendiest streets in town is my own drunk ass stumbling home. Classy. I told a friend tonight that I may not feel temperature in my feet, but the moment they stop working is the moment they're too cold. I hit that about 3 hours ago. I somehow made it home, stumbling like the drunk ass I was. I'm not sure why this whole debacle made me think about the fact that I've never thought of myself as creative, but it sure did. I think it was the fact that I'm such a loser I could never be considered cool.

I've been asked to put up more photos.. I'm not sure what I think about that other than the fact that they better be damn good photos. Do I have any of those? In my opinion, anyone could have taken the photos that I have, they're snapshots of life as I see it, not anything special. I'm currently working as a photographer, but it's almost a joke because there is virtually no creative aspect to it - people want good pictures of their kids in their holiday gear, not a creative shot that I may have decided might look good but they don't fully understand. My photos, much like my writing, I have decided, is a window into who I am that many people never get to see. It's not that I'm ashamed of it, necessarily, but rather that I'm just not sure about that side of me - it's part of me, not something I work at or organize, but rather some I am compelled to do. I can go months without taking a single photograph, and then one day feel pulled to wander outside and get some good shots. Writing is much the same way, most of my poems or stories are jotted down on scrap paper that I may have had handy at the time, not in a notebook organized and ready to view. My school notebooks hold a large number of my writings as well as my photos, thrown in, jotted down, and promptly forgotten until I randomly run across them again. I often wonder if I'll look back at them and chastise myself for never actually taking the time to organize them.

Let's be honest though, I'm not really the organizing type. I have a memory problem, for god's sake, I can't remember my own organization system. This can be evidenced most often by my panties. I have three bins, one for t-shirts, one for socks and one for underwear. That system lasts maybe two weeks before I have to pull panties out of the sock bin and socks out of the t-shirt bin. This usually happens around laundry time, which is few and far between due to the high cost of laundry (high cost is measured in the amount of quarters necessary per load, not the actual dollar amount). Instead, laundry is piled into two loads and shoved in the largest washer I can find. It is then moved to the dryer, which never dries clothes to my satisfaction and I end up hanging it around my 400 square foot apartment, looking like a homeless woman airing out her goods.

So, I may take the Egyptian up and post more pictures, I may post shit I've written. I'm not really sure how to go about being the creative type. I know Kaci would love it, she steals photos off my damn walls. Actual walls, not Facebook. I would call her a jerk, but I'm oddly flattered.

I'm rambling nonsense at 1:36 in the morning of my first day off in months. I should go to sleep, but I'm a little too drunk still for that shit. On to the book anyone? The awesome thing about a memory problem is that 20 books becomes a library since you can't remember the plot of any of them. It's a surprise every time! Sort of like the Crackerjack box. While I'm spewing nonsense, I figured it was time to explain my title. Barefoot comes from the fact that I hate shoes, I can't stand the bastards. Punk is simply the nickname my father gave me when I was young, not in the common sense of 'you punk' but just as it is. Punk. Sometimes reverted to 'punkinhead' or 'punky'. But never in the modern sense that holds connotations about the person, just punk. Therefore Barefoot Punk describes me best, wandering through life, milling about smartly (as I have often been accused of doing) and keeping the attitude that I frequently have, trying not to get down.