My wonderful eccentric architect friend took me to lunch last week. He’s a drinker, and I suck at drinking but I gave it a go. After two Bloody Mary’s (sp?), I stumbled with him over to the art museum. There was a powerful photography exhibit up. We’re such art geeks, we were in there for hours. Ever since, I’ve been dreaming of the images in the kind of dreams where everything is windblown in black and white. Flower petals, sunlight through leaves, and a quality of light that gives everything the nostalgic, melancholy glow of a tintype photo. I wake up and just want to paint and write and forget about everything else. All the painful, mundane details of everyday life become irritating barriers. It’s hard to explain to anyone who doesn’t understand the cycles, but I have to hurry and get all my stuff done when I feel good, so that when the next crash comes, not so much of my life gets broken when I can’t function as well. I need to create when I can spare the energy and time, because all that energy will be needed elsewhere during tougher times. Not to be negative, just practical.
You know the feeling you get when you have to pee so bad that your teeth hurt? That’s how intensely I want to paint right now. Am I painting? No. I’m totally freakin sick and wiped out. I already have a hard time sitting still, and I’m supposed to stay in bed for days??? Being sick is too much like being incapacitated by depression, it makes me nervous. I had a great plan for this week, and now it’s shot completely to bits. $%#@%&(&*^%. Crap, the medicine in kicking in right as I start writing, so I’ll cut this short with a wish of love to all. Sweet dreams.
Maybe Tomorrow- Stereophonics
Auf Achse- Franz Ferdinand
She Fades Away- Alphaville
Sleep- Allen Stone