Every Flyer and Every Poster Gives a Piece of What We Need

I'm sitting in my chair with the morning sunlight streaming through the patio doors, my coffee at my right hand, my warm robe wrapped around me, my feet up on my beautiful, emerald velvet ottoman. I don't get many mornings like this at all. Mornings when I just sit an soak up the gentleness of the morning and contemplate my next projects. I think of the sort of artist I could be with more days like this. It feels like a day or two here or there off is just a time to catch up instead of time to create and dream.

I'm not too quiet about the medical stuff that's a constant in my life. I think it's important to talk about things and normalize how weird bodies are. Mine is healthy and strong and capable, but still fragile as a magnolia bloom. I'm in the throes of something with my asthma. I suspect an ear infection. I have the tell-tale lump behind my right ear. It crackles. It hurts pretty badly and my equilibrium is out of whack. I always have at least a little vertigo from it, but it's usually just enough that I lose my balance for a second and regain it just as quickly. I've had several episodes over the last few days when I just couldn't stabilize fast enough to keep from hurting myself. Damned inner ear.

I got out of bed this morning and while making the bed, I leaned down to pick up the throw pillows. When I leaned over, I coughed, my ear crackled, and the room kind of spun. Fortunately, I was low enough that I just posted my right hand carefully. I wouldn't have done that from a standing position or even one a few more inches off the ground. I still treat that shoulder like it's going to tear itself from the socket any time I breathe too hard. I'm told I still limp a little on my left knee from time to time and now we have this shoulder to give away one more aspect of human frailty.

The cough turned rapidly into an asthmatic episode. I never knew that coughing that way was a sign of asthma quite that way. It was my sister who pointed it out the first time she heard me do it. She's one hell of a nurse. We share an ability for pattern recognition and it makes us both good at what we do, different as our vocations are. I'm so proud of her. I never knew how strong she could be. I never knew how forgiving and resilient she could be. I don't think she reads these anymore and I'm certainly not going to point out to her the times I praise her. I love her so much. I have always loved her so much.

I had strange dreams last night. I so rarely remember them. A surprise stash of canvas and cleaning up a mess I made, badly. I'm proud that these days I don't wait to ask for help when I make a mess. It seems like such a small thing, but my fierce independence has been so much a part of who I am, a point of pride, a definition of me, that letting that go feels a little bit like when you're climbing and you jump for that next hold and make just enough contact to give you a blink of hope, shred your hand, and leave you in freefall.

All that to say that despite feeling kind of cruddy, it's good to sit and appreciate getting to sit and appreciate. My mind won't let go of birds' egg speckles, raptors: eagles, hawks, and the vultures.

I think I might try that painting I've been considering today. I want to play with a few new transparent shades: veridian, ultramarine green, a couple rose shades... But I'd probably best stick with what I know considering I'm trying a new technique. Huh, honestly, the first time I'll have tried anything that I didn't learn from someone else first. And it may be a colossal failure. The last time I did something like this it wasn't though. I'm trying to decide how to do what I want to do and make it a warm scene. Both of us are summer babies and these paintings somehow almost always look frigid. 

I broke out the nebulizer. Albuterol always makes me jittery and lord knows I don't need to be any more anxious than I am. I need it to breathe, but it will likely make it hard for me to sit still and paint. It doesn't seem to affect the way my brain works, but it does make my hands shake and my body feel...itchy. Maybe I'll give it another hour or so to see if my morning maintenance medications will calm the feeling that I'm fucking suffocating in a throbbing cough.

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. I just thought of that when I looked over at my tree. Nanny always said that you had to take down the tree on New Year's Day or it was bad luck. I'd like 2025 to bring me some good luck and what is good luck if not the things you do to bring what you want near? We still haven't got plans for New Year's Eve. I can't have that kiss I want at midnight. It'll have to wait a few more days and I may have to share it with a basset hound, but I'll allow it. Funny missing someone's dog as much as you miss their human.

I'm waiting for the news that we've got a release today. I didn't do much but love pedal steel and take a photo, but sometimes, that's all a creative needs: someone to love and encourage what we do. We don't create for that, we create for ourselves, but it's a fully unique way to connect to someone when you see them love what you made with your heart and your hands. Twice in the past few months, I've seen someone fall in love with a painting. My painting. To watch someone stand and stare, eyes moving over it, soaking in and falling in love with every detail you hated. I had a photographer recently say "You're a lucky man" to my date. I just grinned and said "I'm a lucky woman." And I am. Creating brought me to that night and it just makes me so much more grateful for the things that are "wrong" with my mind. I wouldn't trade art and music for all the normal in the world.

I got out the ruler and the pen and made a rough template. I definitely need to get out the Cricut. I want this to be right and my talent for lines and geometry is evidenced by my lack of ability to paint a wave. I just want a perfect seascape. I want what I see in my mind to come off my brush. I know that all I can do is keep on sucking at it until I get it right. And that part is the hardest. I don't mind working towards better, but fuck me, painting a wave is the slowest progress I've ever had patience to keep sucking at for so long. I think that's the mark of true love, though. You suck at it and it's okay because you love it and no matter how slow the progress, every frothy speck and failed curve gets you closer to it.