Tuesday, February 15, 2005

I'm tired. I'm a little down. I don't need stress. I don't want criticism or gay republicans mocking me. I come home and my cats climb all over me. I look at my favorite painting, a scene with dunes painted by the anonymous Amy Lynly, whoever she was. Usually it is a calming influence. I eat chocolate ice cream but that really hasn't help. I have insomnia and I think about my father and wonder why he could be so mean to me and my brother after spoiling the other brother and a sister.

I should do this or I should do that. What the fuck? The weeds are growing like crazy because of the rain, I wish it would rain more because the ground could use it but I wish it would rain less because I like the sunny skies.

I feel anxious about work or the lack thereof. Of Friday nights when the phone doesn't ring and there is only so many Bejeweled2 games you can play before the tendonitis in my shoulder flares up. Falling down last week dinged my knee up pretty bad and so when I have insomnia I am very aware of the stiffness and soreness of one stupid mis-step.

I wonder about Amy Lynly, the painter. I have applied my usual research skills but she is a blank, doesn't exist in the typical records. That five dollar painting usually makes me feel better. For some reason it must be broken tonight.

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