Yesterday, after spending Monday and Tuesday prepping, wrapping, and packing up my work into two cars, Michael and I drove through the the famous Los Angeles traffic into Santa Monica: the extreme East Side to the West, 14 paintings on canvas in my car, and 15 framed drawings in his.
This is the crux of my anxiety. I’ve been hurrying up and waiting for too long. It’s been putting me into such a lousy mental state, it ain’t no bag of clowns. I wanted to title this entry, Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Which would better capture how I really feel. Because, while the world passes me by, I’m left here, sitting on my hands looking like a coward, and perhaps I am. Or, at least I have been until now. What do I mean by that? Well, brace yourself, because this is the bomb before the book.