Immersion

Immersion studio has invaded my existence. Architecture is a foreign language, and I speak it on my cell phone pretentiously when other people are around. I carry an X-ACTO in my purse and am probably proficient enough to use it as a nail trimmer. I dream in elevation and section. I smell like cardboard. And chipboard. And museum board. I talk about southern glazing like she's my roommate and I brush my teeth while she's in the shower. I use the word "notion" at least twice a day.

But even with all this architecture knowledge, I find myself in uncharted territory. Like the topography lines on this site model of Clifton, I proceed beyond the borders with no end in sight. Only, unlike topography lines, I am neither corrugated nor 1/8" thick.

So far this year, I've built dozens of libraries that only crickets could enjoy. I tried to pitch one of my ideas to this grasshopper, but he only wanted to play the violin and have fun while his ant friend stored up food for winter. I have a feeling that grasshopper is already regretting his choice.

I had a tiny break from DAAP when Nathan James, the sharpest cheese in all of Rancho Cucamonga, came to spend the night with me. We attended two paternal family reunions. At the Miller family reunion, Nathan got a little carried away with the orange drink and needed to blow off some steam. Legend has it, the top of his head unhinged like a mighty lid and an angry kitten tossed a thimble-full of promise into the wind.

Later, Emma captured this kitten roaming the streets near Skyline. It didn't want to play hopskotch and braid hair, but was quickly won over with the promise of pie.