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October 8, 2013
The view from my foyer towards the street, contains a joke--a perfectly mounded pot of chrysanthemums in a clever rust color that almost fools the eye into believing they're alive. The analogy that comes to my mind is that of mascara on my 61 year old eye lashes. It's a statement that, Hey, I'm still in the game, still trying, however futile. It's also a statement about my embracing slackerhood. I refuse to make the game more important than my dreams. I'm not about appearances anymore, I'm about showing up (sort of) and doing work that's important. Or trying.