How my 24 hours were spent instead of taking advantage of the muse, who sat bored and unbelieving, kicking her heals and chewing on my conscience as I ignored the studio (insert: easel, painting, passion, future)?
Woke up at 3:am. Breakfast, news, email. 30 minute workout and stretch, 4:45 am, frost on the ground, ice on windsheilds, moon low in the late night, early AM cold black sky. My breath precedes and trails me: I take the dog for a run (or she takes me. I need the workout, she wants the excercise, it's symbiotic...). Shower, dress, drive to the next town to work @ 6:am (one minute late, must find a supervisor to let me punch in). Hack, slice, dice and grind the farm animals of the world for Northern California kitchens. Off work at 2:30 pm: bank, shop, home by 3:30. Dishes to wash, dinner to prepare, HOLD ON! A vital household chore rears it's mandatory mug. To hell! 5:30pm, crack open Anchor Steam Seasonal Ale (g-r-r-e-A-T-E!). 7:30, finish my business, eat, watch Fedor_The_Last_Emperor_Emelianenko while eating then fail to find another interesting fight video that will load on the 24hundred dollar Mac. Decide to blog, finish wine, go to bed. Wake up and repeat with the hope of Art being allowed to breathe next time.
Good night my empty audience. Cheers.
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