Wednesday, January 23, 2008
In my mind swim, not asleep and not awake, where my thoughts are liquid, I start to worry. I wrap my arm across my chest and place my hand on my shoulder, I am still here. I feel the bottoms of my naked feet on the carpet, I'm still here. I check my kittens, they are here too.
What if I just gave too much away. What if it’s something that can‘t be replenished?
I want to bring it all back in and stack it in the corner. I could get some of them back anyway. I’d still paint them because I have to. It’s like eating and sleeping and loving, I will still do it. If I kept it all in a stack, then I could keep more of me together?
With almost every painting, I drip a drop of me in it. So many drops are spread all over. Some of them are overlooked. Some of them are wasted, like dollars. Some of them are even taken then claimed unrightfully as your drops.
I dripped that drop and I can’t get it back so I guess I hope that it adds to someone else’s. I hope it replenishes yours, then it’s worth it. Maybe I shouldn’t worry.