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Monday Morning.

She's on the phone in the next room, it's been that way for an hour, while I sifted through my email and made coffee, threw together something that looks like lunch, smoked 3 cigarettes.

But, I'm writing this because there's a painting that belongs to me sitting in the hallway. It's there, like a badge of failure, waiting for me to say hello to it, I'd really rather not.

Remember back in March? Remember when everything was okay? Everything seemed up. I had just got a job, I was madly in love, everyone was okay and healthy, and I had just put my first painting in a gallery. Then, remember back in April? Remember when that painting sold, and I thought I really had it, thought maybe I could really do this thing, the thing where you live your dream (of flying machines)?

That painting is in my hallway. That painting wasn't really purchased after all. That painting was a giant lie, brought on to me by people feeling like God, feeling like they could sway my fate, taking my feelings and twisting them into something that looked like truth, but smelled like 1999.

So. My painting was purchased by my grandmother's boyfriend, and has been returned to the fold. Of course, this revelation came right as I sold two more paintings, the initial lie came out after Chicago told me I was good (enough). Read: As I was just getting up off the ground, my grandmother did a super flying karate kick into my gut.


I've been hanging on to that for a couple of weeks.

And, sure, there's far more going on in my life than I have the time or the energy for. I mourned my life on Friday night, as I watched everyone leave work happy around 5, and I was only half way through my shift.

I haven't been writing, or doing much, aside from playing Final Fantasy X-2 when I get home from work.

I guess I'm "seeing" someone, but it seems more of a self destruction mechanism than a relationship.

I guess work is going, but it's the same job as before, only with more cheerleaders in a different building.

9:05 a.m. - 2003-12-01


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