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." ...
There have been more than a few times in life I felt like I needed a do-ever, a chance to start again. Leaving Massachusetts was something I'd been dreaming about since we moved there from Colorado in '88, the whole state leaving me filled with dread. It's hard not to feel heavy-hearted living there much of the year, the greyness filling every memory, soggy humidity drowing every breath. I've found most places in the country have their potential ruined because the people suck, and I wasn't digging many of the people I knew at the time.
Getting a do-over in New York and New Jersey was the perfect opprtunity for me at the time, a new beginning where I was ultimately able to come into my own. Living there was imperative to my own evolution, allowing me to shed a lot of my shyness, and a lot of my anger, finding the voice I'd had to stuff down my throat up until then.
Coming to Denver was the do-over I'd been dreaming of since I was 12 years old, the dreams plaguing me in serial loops over the years, the horizons of mountains stretching across purple landscapes, expanses of sky signifying possibility, images of old friends pulling me ...
I've been somewhat of an insomniac since I moved here to Denver. When I was living on the East coast I didn't always sleep so well, but here it's like a plague I have managed to infect Don with-I feel like my constant worrying in the crux of where the night meets morning has somehow infected him. I used to be able to sit quietly staring into space, trying to think my way out of my own worry.
We have been waking up at 4 or 4:30 for what seems like months now-usually one of us will start some conversation about something that is bothering us. The thoughts swirling in my head during that time of the night are sometimes collaborated with what I see on the news-the allure of being able to check news stories in bed at any time too much for me to sit in the dark trying to hold back the tears.
We're poor, but we've been poor for the past two years together. Lately it's like a monster on my shoulders as I avoid Sallie Mae and their requests for payment on $40k I am somehow expected to chip away at making $10 an hour. I then ...
