Mid December

I do art. Lately it’s in the form of portraiture. The logic is: with portraiture you know if your painting looks like who it’s supposed to look like. Its a taxing exercise that requires a bit of skill to pull off. I have a composition to get started on. One that I’m practicing for. I already have the idea and a rough sketch of it done. Now to put pencil to paper, a large piece of paper, and get the ball rolling.

I’ve been submitting a lot lately. Agents and publishers. It’s a strange feeling to know my junk is circulating in places it won’t be seen. Or maybe it will. I feel like I’m playing the lottery. Placing all my hopes into a magic ticket and loftily planning my future around the possible winnings. Stand back, folks; I’m a professional . . . Professional dreamer, maybe.

Other than that, I do what I normally do. Drink beer, eat pizza, sometimes I charm a gal, sometimes I piss her off. I work my little CNA job where, though I get paid bunk and I garner all the respect of a meth addled trash collector, I get a strange satisfaction brightening the day of a person who has only a few left. Over all I try to live and I try to dream at the same time. Finding the compromise between the two is naturally a challenge. Like I was writing to a friend a moment ago, I struggle and wonder if I”m struggling hard enough.

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