I’ve got bills to pay, I shouldn’t be writing, I shouldn’t go down to my studio to paint either, because once i get into my studio I’m gone. Gone from paying, gone from time. I keep shuffling the pile of bills from one room to the other, as though a different atmosphere might induce me to open the mail. It doesn’t.
I keep shuffling myself from room to room, too, hoping this downcast mood might change. It doesn’t.