BAM. There she goes…I have what I figure to be 5 months to get it done. Or start getting things done. I have paintings. Books. Businesses. Creation wrapped around interpretation and a fastidious and fast hand.

The novel, er memoir, er, thingamajig thing is coming along. I am trying to tackle quite a bit right now and handle the pressure of trying to keep up with a home while also taking care of me (which unfortunately I have realized over the past few days is not working out quite as I had planned). Stroke-light, or lite as they say. The stress here is going to do me in unless I get away. But Are-ee-zone-a is not where I want to be. I would rather sell myself to a rich Russian, no wait, even a poor one, to avoid that fate. I kinda feel like I need to be thrown out on my tail, for real this time, to see what I am able to do on my own. Though living away from my family for as long as I have has made that somewhat feasible, I guess.

Running away isn’t going to solve anything. I need to run to something…be it freedom or lightness or fluidity, or art or culture.