October 20, 2013

Tested the furnace, and it works. The comforting banging and hissing.  The simple joys.

Glorious morning at the studio. I was finished before anyone else came, almost. I kept thinking of the people I wanted to give the paintings to as gifts, knowing I won’t because what if they hate them? It’s a burden to give somebody something they hate. Somehow the question, “What if they love them?” never quite balances the equation.

Rather savage dreams. I was being forced to leave my house (not this house) by my neighbor, Zach, who apparently owned everything. I spent my energy damaging and sabotaging things. I wept when I punctured a hole in the garden hose, because I remembered all the flowers I had watered with it. The house had amazing deep foundations, that went down into an underground pool.

Day of writing, before and after the painting. Have worn my Irish Rugby shirt five days now, have no desire to take it off.

I can say to no one, “My life remains entirely unfulfilled,” because when viewed form the outside it doesn’t look that way at all. Oddly, that is an immense comfort. Do we really wish others to see us as we see ourselves? I don’t, except when the issue is good intentions.