February 7, 2017

As I left the gym, the sky above me was dark turquoise, slashed with the fuzzy silver of one vapor trail.

In moment of resolve I bought tickets for Venice for spring break. Had anxiety about it until the moment it was done.

Message from a former student in Armenia, thanking me for some experience I can’t now put my finger on. Gratification.

Painted pretty well, but with a short temper. That is the refrain for the week, the pissed-off blues.

SS says that he (and most of the playwrights he knows) will not write a play until sure that a production is forthcoming. I do not fathom that about writing, but I guess I do about painting, waiting for some kind of palpable audience before I tackle the big projects I have in my heart. L’homme arme while I paint.

Yellowish gray daylight, too warm for February. I drunken E-bayed a Pluto dog to sit beside the one I had since before my first birthday, desperate for some kind of succor, likely or unlikely.