The street looks deserted, but I know it's not. Random radio blares disconcertingly into dim and my heart pounds like a timpani. Like a cannon. This is no place for an artist I think. I hear people moving, but the sound bounces off the concrete walls and I can't tell where it comes from. It's disorienting and I feel like I am surrounded. I probably am surrounded.
Viewing entries tagged
Here's what happens when I spend a day covered in paint with my husband and never actually open my very-important-daily-notebook-inside-of-which-all-life-is-organized.
Hello Sunday. I've decided that, while I may still post on Sundays, I like letting it being a rest day for all intents and purposes
Things I learned from a notebook; simple is better.