Out of Practice and Far From Perfect

I suppose enlisting in the army might have had some benefits-namely some discipline I sorely lack. You've got to wonder how I spin in and out of these beautiful literations, sometimes really clever, though lately I am far from inspiring. I feel like my language has been dumbed down being here in Denver, understanding that most conversation during the day involves Don and I spewing about the various inequalities and injustices in our world, and then beyond that any regular conversation revolves around how I take my coffee, what's new in the bakery and nothing beyond polite conversations about dogs. Granted it is really fucking early in the morning, but still-inspiration is truly lacking with absolutely no reserves, of course spinning all of my own tales and genius in my own head, far from any other realizing eyes.

If I hadn't stopped drawing when I did, or rather, let myself get severely out of practice, I would probably be a real artist right now. Instead I am the designated family painter person-doing all manner of project that will adorn a relative's wall, the subject matter nothing I'd normally tackle for any other project than, "paint a nice picture for the wall." ...