goat

well fuck.
I am finally over my hangover from Monday night's escapade. I don't think I am going to drink another glass of wine again. Sitting at the bar definitely has it's advantages--or disadvantages depending on what orifice is buried in the toilet bowl.
Unfortunately for me it was the latter, not the former.

Mercury must be retrograde. I keep losing things--my glasses, sunglasses, cell phone, checkbook--I chipped my front tooth and a kid ripped my silk scarf in class. My back was turned and I heard this heart-wrenching "rip". The room was silent and all eyes were on him. They waited for me to lash out in a fiery rage. And in my silence, I realized that all this shit: phones, teeth, glasses--it was all pointless. I told him to forget about it. Cheers rang out--I felt like a hero.

I picked up my daughter from daycare yesterday and read her report--the provider said," She read a book to us and was so animated...And at the end, closed the book and said 'bye-bye'."
My daughter rocks my socks.

Another weekend is rapidly approaching. Being alone again is okay but what I wouldn't do for a little intimacy, actually company would be divine. Come Saturday around 4p.m. I get sad and stumble around town with my hands in my pockets. It's a self-defeating activity but better than sitting at home with the ghosts of bitter fights, crying and isolating solitude. I'm lookin for water from a deeper well.

I think I will go see Rachel Caswell tonight. After all, I have the day off tomorrow. Sigh.

harvest moon

While sitting through a meeting trying to persuade unsuspecting seniors to buy memorabilia, I snickered at a colleague's retort, "I have decided that Consumerism is a whore." I think he is absolutely correct.

The moon last night was amazing. I held my girl up to the glowing mass and she pointed and said, "moooo."

great tranquility and order

"Tanto monta, monta tanto, Isabel como Fernando."

I had an opportunity to spend some time with an amazing artist this weekend who has his studio in the old Bare Essentials building.
I was captivated by his work in the window as I would pass by on the way to Soma. I love oil painting; it reminded me of growing up--mom had a studio set up. Later, Carolyn took to oils and the summers were spent with the projector set up in the kitchen, slides of Degas ballerinas cast on the fridge.

I never thought much about it--but the scent of the oils drifted toward the outside patio seating and took me back.
His works made me want to cry-- each one so different; so full of depth and pain and suffering...

He recently completed Billie Holiday.
Dorothy Parker is next, followed by none other than Isabella.

His interpretations of Hester Pryne, Saint Joan and Elizabeth, Medea and Ophelia were unbelievable. I have known quite a few painters in this life--but this one--this one I could see myself in all of his works, I could talk to him for hours about these women, standing there in that space, looking at each one....