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This is what it could look like when one completely deconstructs a life as one knows it, and how to build from the ground up. Alternatively, this is a fresh look at an old story. The fine art of falling apart.

I should live in Tripoli to be grateful

I hate that word, Blog. I've said that before.

Slicking along rainy forested roads today. Slipped back to the Island and reunited Buckley and Marble, one of them is really happy. Nothing came in the mail for me. I was disappointed. No silky vintage comforter, no nice sheets. Not even the camera cases. Bah. Slow or not sent.

The art show where I will have a few pieces on display starts on October 1 and goes until the end of the month. That's mostly what I've been anxious about lately. I had a bit of a freak out the other night, at the studio. Green paint flying, my energy in the toilet. Figuratively.

Inspiration is tough to come by, sometimes.

I keep waiting for the curtain of apathy to lift. It could be the rain. Or the exhibition. Or the fact that my plans are now in motion and I still feel the same. No future. No goal that is appealing. And guilt. Because I should be glad I'm alive and I live in Canada and not Tripoli.

I should be glad that I have access to the things I want, when I want them, instead of being so lackluster. I should be praising god every single hour for my freedoms.

But I'm not.

p.s kinda cranky today

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