So my last post was heavy on the optimism. Over the top, really, adding forty years to my lifespan.
I love it when I can pull that off.
Today, not so much.
Truth is, we are facing the probability of another year of social isolation. Sucks under any circumstances but more so if A. you’re already dealing with some heavy shit like a terminal illness and B. you live alone.
Yeah, if it weren’t for my art practice, I’d be lost right now. I spent four hours at the studio today. And as the light waned (my sign to close up shop) I just thought, ‘wouldn’t it be cool if I was just an artist instead of an artist with cancer.’
Damn I hate that C word. So much so that on the drive home I imagined simply excising the third letter in the alphabet. I mean, there are a lot of crappy (case in point) C words. Can’t, cunt, corpse. Don’t get me started…
A frozen enchilada and half a martini later my mood is not much better.
I know I’ll rally; because that is what I do. And there are no good alternatives. I have cancer, we are in a pandemic, and I live alone. These are facts. No amount of pretending is going to change any one of them.
So there you have it. Fuck the funk. Embrace the suck. And just keep moving.