Out of all the months, the whole year long, January weighs most heavy on my heart. I hate January. It feels like a million Januaries have passed and we are but two weeks into this month. The sky is grey and gloomy. The rain is cold and piercing. And I want to do nothing but curl up with my favorite books, drink some hot tea, and pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. Instead, I put my winter boots with the giant hole in the heel and I go to work and have my soul sucked from me moment by moment. I watch the minutes tick by until the hour of my freedom is at hand and I race home to be with myself again. And I am surrounded by art and talented friends and I share and receive beautiful treasures. I love trading art.
One of these days, I'll actually finish the book that has slowly worked its way out of my head. And I'll send it to someone and they'll decide it's neat enough to publish. Then I won't have to leave my home and myself so much. Wouldn't it be nice?
The High Point of 2015: The Big 500 Show
2 years ago