She wakes up knowing that she has the whole day to do nothing much at all. This fills her with a pleasant anticipation. She knows there are things that must be done, the real world tasks, such as cleaning, laundry, food preparation, and perhaps bill paying. She also knows she needs to rejoin her studio life this week after taking a week off to spend time with visiting family. She feels like there is something she needs to express but she just can't quite put her finger on it. There is so much right at the surface bursting to get out, but it seems it is behind a thin veil.

She hasn't been sleeping well again, waking up on every hour in the dark. This morning was no different but that the thunder had returned after a two week hiatus. She was glad for the rain, as she knew this meant a break in the temperature. Once she finally meandered out of bed, she happily put on her new thrift store green cardigan, the softness feeling so good against her arms after many days of humidity and heat.

She goes to the store, where they are playing disco. She wishes she had someone to laugh about this or dance in the aisles with, but there is no one. She buys bread, tea, soy milk, and sugar cubes. She thinks there is something so sweet and nostalgic about sugar cubes. She returns home, she takes pictures, but none of them are what she wants. She kills time basically. She thinks about either drinking too much tea and getting wired or going back to sleep just so she can dream. What she needs is to make some art. Real art, not small things, not side projects. She needs to start making the meaning behind it all, behind the next big series. Perhaps the meaning is made, she just needs to flip that magic switch so that she can express it within her next paintings. She wants this next body of work to do more, mean more, and be more than just paintings on a wall. She just doesn't know how to make that happen right now.

She listens to the blues; Howlin' Wolf, John Lee Hooker and Sonny Boy Williamson but then switches to Ella Fitzgerald. She sways in her seat as she writes, wishing she was writing with substance and not in the third person, but right now she needs this initial crutch just to get her writing again. It is also a tip of the hat to the stories that got her writing more here in the first place, two Aprils ago now.

She doesn't want the sun to come out today, she just wants blinding inspiration and the drive to make it real. She also wishes someone wasn't so far away.

x.