An Artist Sits In Her Diaper

I'm just sitting here unable to conjure up a particular thought aside from the mental image of my brain swirling around in my head like some gelatinous pink tornado. Life has been slow lately. It's okay for that to happen. Sometimes schedules just go that way. For somebody as antsy as I am that's hard to accept, because I want to fight crime, save the world, and be home before dinnertime. But every so often life gives us these periods of time that are meant for other things besides squishing our noses a little harder against The Great Grindstone Of Lifeβ„’. They are meant for self-reflection, peace, and observing the cadences of reality. Every now and then they are for getting groceries.

I think what I'm trying to say is, it's been a nice vacation, but I'd like to make moves for it to end. And thanks to the introspective experiences I've had on this life-cation I am ready to dive back into the hectic swarm of busy-bodiedness with enthusiasm, even if it means taking some stress to the chin. Being buried with work isn't entirely on my terms, but emerging from complacency is. I have time to devote to my creative outlets and I would love to approach them vigorously.

Β 

"Well that was an unusual entry, wasn't it?"

"Yeah I dunno man. You think she's on drugs?"

"Oh most definitely. I'm betting 3 more months tops for that crack whore's teeth."

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Barry?"

"I love you."