Day 190. Really? I mean really? I worked all freaking day. All day. I woke with ambition. A list of things both artistic and practical. The hours peeled away like petals. I worked steadily, but the list is still there.
I'm still in angry mode. Well, semi angry. I'm so sick of this recession. I can't blame the Christians for that one. I'm sick of worrying. Then, when I step back I feel guilty for being sick. I'm in a house with a pool in Palm fucking Springs.
I am the privileged poor. At least if I step back far enough I am. In PS, up close, not so much. Luckily I'm an artist. Artists are rarely considered poor. Artists tend to be in a class of their own. Tell that to SoCal Edison.
I'm going to make a 'really' poppet and put it on my desk, pointed at me. Perhaps I should put it on a lanyard and wear it around my neck.
Wait a minute. It's the end of July. Summer here always sucks. So far, without fail. It's oppressive. It seems more than just the heat. It always does. Cabin fever? It's too hot to go outside.
Then, I hear it's ridiculously hot in Minnesota. And to think I've considered moving there.
I'm giving it up for today. Leaving the brushes to soak. Opening a bottle of wine. Putting on a movie, setting the alarm, hitting the water first thing, before coffee. I'll get up and try this again tomorrow. You can count on me for that, at least.
I'm in the mood to make something big. And scary. Where's my patron? Gone the way of princes? No worries. I shall save myself. I'm no Cinderella.