Dark and dreary; I will not go to the fence today. The very thought of setting up only to quickly scramble to cover my work from the rain doesn’t sound like a good time. The wind is aggressive, which is pleasant from an inside view. I will finish a painting I’ve been working on for the last three days.
I think the breakfast of Bloody Marys and shots has kicked in. The crowd below has started to grow in size and volume. I don’t begrudge anyone from enjoying themselves and escaping into a wonderland of adult fun. This is a tourist city. If I was 20 years younger, I’d be in the thick of it…drunk, obnoxious and having the time of my life. But I’m not 26 years old; I’m 46 years old. I suppose my idea of a good time has evolved over the years. I’ve partied so much in my life, starting at a young age…I view this sort of behavior as amateur hour and boring. So I understand the celebration just not interested in it.
New Orleans is not my city. I can’t call it nor can I claim it, as I feel like an outsider looking in. In the middle of a party, like a host, but I know no one. This is not about feeling sorry for myself, not at all. It’s about the sense of being disconnected within my surroundings.
I have formed small bonds with other artists, a community of creation. I’m grateful for this. I have a wonderful partner whose love has made this city more bearable. I’m grateful for him. Without LT I would be totally lost and most likely would have hit the road a long time ago.
My spiritual being is screaming for attention and nurturing, as I’m so fucking scattered, I cannot make that connection. I need that to stay fully grounded and whole. Swirling further and further from my spiritual path is scary. I’m reaching for it…but the current is much too forceful. My mind cannot tune out the distractions, which are a constant. No one can fix this situation for me. I must find my way again…on my own.
There is so much more to purge…but the day is wasting away and I want to be productive. Time to go paint.