I only need one person to like a piece of my art enough to buy it.
Single-person audience.
I don’t need to appeal to masses.
Just one.
Eye on the prize.
My mom says, "call on your ancestors," after we talk about personal growth.
I'm not all good, I'm not all bad. I'm some quasi-grayscale persona wandering this dirt patch.
Aren't we all?
I'm still discovering that we all are.
Climbed the hill yesterday. Like a champ. Cried a lil too.
Still crying a little today realizing the gravity of, “I made it out alive.” Genuinely thought I wouldn’t and that’s a terrible place to exist.
Good or bad cries don't really matter. Let it all go back to the universe collective.
Cotton fabric for $13 / yard is criminal. Fuck that.
Gave away my howlite. It told me it was time to go, tucked into their pocket sweetly and playfully.
“Did you put something in my pocket?”
“Yes, yes I did!” with a childlike smile.
Dora trying to decide if she wants to stay or go. Obnoxiously hot in the sun next to me. But the shade is too far from my company.
She's still adapting to desert dog mode.
Clothes drying in the sun.
Tanning my cheeks.
Text message from Bubble Boy, more adventures. Gotta write that (picture) book too!
Have a whole shelf to fill. One book up there sitting still.
A long way to go and so close, thankfully.
