I write every day. I have written every day for 204 days now with the exception of the lovely case of pneumonia I contracted last June when I missed one. I never really know what I will write about until I sit down at this keyboard. There have been one or two occasions where I sort of knew ahead of time what I wanted to say, and very early on I got sick of my “woe is me of the no art lessons” stories, sometimes I talk about the work, but I really don’t get into it in-depth. I just write. I have a friend who has asked on more than one occasion, “Why?” She says that she is fascinated with how my brain works, my thought process, the whats and whys of the piece of work I am currently creating. She has brought this up more than once. I don’t really have an answer for her. Much like I sit down here night after night and words begin to flow, I do the same most days/nights with my art. It is second nature to me to create. I don’t think about it all that much, I just do. I cook, I write, I sculpt, I paint, I design, I never stop creating. When I have an idea I go with it. I went to my nephew’s apartment in LA the other day. He is a chef, a very busy, talented chef, and he is relatively new to his apartment. He needs a decorator. It’s a small place, two rooms, kitchenette and bathroom, and I can’t wait to get my hands on it. That will come to no surprise to those who know and love me, as well as those I annoy to no end. I’m a girl who loves a project. I have so much to do with two shows right around the corner, Christmas cleaning and decorating (although the glitter issue has me way ahead on that!) I have to shop for Christmas, get a tree, rescue my snowman collection from its garage prison, and write those Christmas cards that will never see the inside of a mailbox. (Story for another time) What is on my mind? John’s apartment. If I didn’t need the money I would forget the shows and be there now, paintbrush in hand. It’s as though I’m in need of a fix, it is that bad. To know that somewhere in this world there is an apartment laying in wait is killing me. My home is done, several times over in fact. My sister once said that I paint my walls more often than she changes her sheets. Sad but nearly accurate. About two years ago I painted the kitchen three times in three days. (Dan only had to help the first two times) It’s an illness, but the color just wasn’t right. The ideas for John’s apartment will not let my brain rest. I have to wait at least another eleven days until after my second show. I don’t know how I will get through it.

I took a day off from fairies today. My back was pleading with me, and as I mentioned last night I am exhausted. Something simple tonight, another book-plate for the business. A pen and ink, computer tinted in photo-shop.