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Showing posts from February, 2018

I am an Artist

It is Sunday. It is raining. The radio bellows out a Brahms piano concerto from a past concert from the BSO. My son is running for twelve hours to celebrate four years of sobriety. He started in the dark. He was wearing a headlamp as was shown in a brief video documenting his checking his on-body gear.
Yesterday someone said to me on the phone: Well, you’re different. In relation to what? I should have asked.
Society? Community? Animals, plants?
In therapy a couple of weeks ago, I explained leaving a meeting that was convened to assess the upcoming studio tour in the summer to which I had been invited. During the description, I started to heave with laughter on the verge of hysteria as I let loose on how I was expected to contribute to the group participating in the studio tour beyond simply opening my doors to the public.
The latter conversation connected with many others that my therapist and I have had about how difficult it is for me to get along with people.
The conclusive brid…