Saturday night I was full of hate. Not toward any one person, just hating that I couldn’t go out for a freaking hour and a half without some kind of toddler disaster occurrence pulling me back home. Hating the lack of freedom I now have as a parent. Hating my incredible lack of time to be on my own and think about nothing in particular. I don’t know about you, but some of my best ideas have come out of thinking about nothing. The brain needs to drain, you know? A person can’t be on call 24/7 for too long before they lose their proverbial marbles. I know I asked for this change in my life, this addition of human/s to our house, these children. I do not regret or resent them being here. I just want a break is all. And I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.
On an up note, my pal Esha moved into her new house a few weeks back and she has a garage in the alley behind said house she is willing to give me to paint in. What an incredibly generous thing. At her last house she let me paint on her back porch. It is very important for me to be able to leave my house to paint. I cannot work at my house for a variety of reasons:
- someone is always trying to get my attention
- someone is always asking me questions
- there is always some kind of chore that is deemed more important than me creating something
- there is no quiet here
- there are children, two years old, who live here
- the fumes from the turpentine and oil paint mediums are not healthy for little kids to breathe
There are probably many more reasons I need a space outside our little paradise of a row house, but those are the first to come to mind. There is a lone window in Esha’s garage, which looks so cool in photos. I hope I can get my shit together, clean out the space a bit, and get to painting again. I feel like some of that special necessary art energy is piling up in my head lately. That means either I create something or I will soon become depressed and despondent. Better to paint a picture. Cheaper than therapy.