here's a brain teaser for you...why is it that when an artist has a momentary blockage, they doubt themselves as an artist altogether? ok - let me rephrase that...i am wondering why, when i have a day in the studio that's much less productive than i'd like, why do i begin to have self-doubt that inspiration will ever return? no, let me rephrase that...why did i take a day off work to stare at a mannequin that may cost me $1800 to ship across country and not glue, nail, burn, cut or otherwise schmutz it up? nada. and why, i ask rhetorically since i know the answer, do i then wonder what i will do with all these art supplies and rusty metal when i (once again) give up art entirely? tomorrow. gotta love mom for her stick-to-it-tiveness..."maybe it's not meant to be." which re-flamed me. after listing all the famous people who failed many many times before hitting the Big One...Thomas Edison, Ben Franklin (invented the $100 bill AND the five-and-dime store), my personal hero Albert Einstein, after listing all these people who surely must have goofed up once or twice along the way to creating light, and relativity theories, and all other manner of important Thought, she said, well i just hate to see you waste a good day off. i am caught here, in this parallel universe. it's like a mork and mindy thing sometimes. i wonder at times who my real parents are. and if, indeed, i am from that genetic stock that can simmer down the sauce to it's simplest form, to create a beautiful reduction from the most complex ingredients, why then do i insist on fighting the inevitable? why don't i just sit on a scratchy plaid couch on the porch with Jesus on the 8-track player (volume 11) wishing away all the sin i encounter? why do i fight that? is it inevitable? should i just let it all go now, and save myself years of potential Big Thought? not like Thomas Edison, Big Thought, but a thought bigger than myself, perhaps. just give a huge exhale like i've been holding my breath for 52 years...a huge WHEW and as i exhale, i am suddenly wearing lavender stretch pants, a sensible haircut, rockports with arch supports, and a large gold-like cross around my neck. it would be like the nutty professor, in a way. so here i go ranting, and you know i'm only half-kidding...i love my mother, and i accept that she exists in a world of her own creation where it's safe and dependable and anything that wrinkles that is from satan. apparently, i am frequently satan's puppet, but not as much as when i was younger. so there's that to point to and be proud. i could just go on, but you'd think i was making most of it up, so i will stop here. and besides, it doesn't seem christian to shine a little light on the woman who is grandmother to my diva dog...the only person other than myself that diva has never bitten. dogs know things, AND they have a Red Phone to God. i'm betting on the lottery tonight, so i don't want to piss Anyone off. and i'm hoping diva can put in a good word. i tried doing that animal communication with her...god knows i was able to figure out my first husband...a dog shouldn't be that much harder...but i can't figure out how to translate "lottery" into terms a dog would understand..."many many many good girl bones and toys and no kitties but lots of bunnies to play with," just hasn't worked. so there goes that career. and to be honest, Cesar Millan has that market pretty well cornered. is he not highly attractive? as is his wife. i'm just sayin. oy bad dog. so i wish i would have paid better attention in misty's class last year, because i could sure use some help on this design element for the aforementioned million-dollar mannequin. i may just shove her in a coffin (the mannequin - not misty), say she's my aunt, watch as they respecfully load her into the cargo hold of the first jetblue outta here, and set my watch back a little on my way out to the west coast. and unless the plane goes down...my "aunt" will arrive in 1 piece. so that's niggling at me too. i know i'll pay out the snout for shipping. i knew that and planned for it, so it's no surprise and i don't care. it's just that there are only 50/50 odds that she will arrive there in the same condition that she left in. oy...and then there's the return trip. good lord. hopefully there won't be a return trip. i'll have to talk to the dog about that too. ok then goodnight. L.