Slowly and sullenly leaking into the universe
Months go by. A week seems like an hour. I am generally rudderless and without any plan for my life. While many people might find that refreshing, I have become most dissatisfied. I can not find the fucking bootstraps upon which I should be pulling myself up by. It has become increasingly difficult to accomplish anything more than looking out the window. These being my prime earning years that would seem to be a poor choice. Business has been slow, but occasionally interesting. Sports figures and people of merit, recorded by the Gates Foundation (Kofi Annan, and others). But the money has slowed to a trickle. Normally I would welcome such a dry spell because I could paint, but that has of course seemed like too much of a commitment. I could also spend time with the kids, but they seem less interested in actually doing anything than in their electronic heroin screens. I have painted. More strange science fiction covers, and a painting I have been working on for a couple of years of a particularly bad dream I once had. I have also been working on a novel called "Chronic Yard Sale", and have egoistically started on a cover painting for that. So that is the last several months in a nutshell. Yea me.
