Clogged Drain

There are days that produce an abundance of pin pricks in the ego and the psyche. So much so that our breath becomes ragged and our tears become mental.... mental you say... yes heavily laden with burden. I often felt that I was born into giving... into giving of spirit, of love, of the act of creating. I was born into these patterns and perplexities. I had no choice in this matter. Perhaps, I could stuff them in a backpack (some do you know), I could pursue a career that others related to or admired or etc. etc. A career that paid the bills, that allowed me a tidbit of voice in small western communities that thrive on fox news that said ahhh she is one of us.
But I have walked alone for a great deal of my life. Bless those around me for trying to understand... the joke was "must be nice in Annie's world".
The pain begins when you try to help community by providing a service ... through your talents. What a fool I am ...this is not my art market! Yup I could just hear my professor... foolish child.. know your art market. And you say "I am donating my product" but... if your product is not valued why would you donate it?
Then the day comes to a close with a dear friend, a fellow artist, passing away... gaining his angel wings. He was labeled with ...A "Mental" illness. Damn, our world is harsh.
Our world prefers cookie cutter templates that fit the mold. Remember we are not born alike. Being an individual takes courage and after my tears are run out tonight I will seek courage once again.

But for now, I will drink wine and cry... for Malcom and for so many that were born into the world of art... born to create.

Bless those angels.